#(the way it's so slow and regal ;;4;;)

[hazelfoureyes]

The Safeword is RadioApple (part 4 - Alastor’s win?)

Read the first part here for intro and warnings and then decide:

Did Lucifer win rock paper scissors? Cum here

Did Alastor win rock paper scissors? Keep reading

Alastor’s eyes sank down to you, looking past his nose as Luci began to kiss at his jawline. “Our wise king”, he smirked, “had an idea. Would you be interested in hearing us out?”

Us? You nodded, almost knocking a headache right back into your skull.

“Luci”, did he just call him Luci?, “thinks we should show you our teamwork skills. But you seem quite tired today… so perhaps, our little duckie could be the one connecting us, instead of you, darling?”

Your brain couldn’t process anything happening. Not sounds or sights let alone grammar and implications and tone of voice. The word ‘duckie’ disintegrated neurons. Luci stopped his slow and wet kisses down Alastor’s neck to flash the most sinful look your way, “What do you say, kitten?” He had never looked so much like the devil before. There was a power you couldn’t put your finger on, something pouring from his body into the air around you he had never brought into the bedroom. You remembered the power that the video of him defending the hotel had held and how it brought you here in the first place.

Quick, someone tell Charlie. You’d managed to make it to heaven without even leaving hell.

The shock continued as the men took to task undressing you, then each other. Alastor never got fully nude around Lucifer unless it was in the bath or shower, but he let Lucifer strip him bare.

Lucifer lied on top of you, his knees pushing your legs open as his mouth came to yours. His still soft cock gently pressing into your crotch, his smile making your teeth bump into each other with every reconnection. Stopping, he looked behind and then back to you. You watched him shake his ass a little as he lifted it up into the air. A second later his eyes closed and he moaned above you. You could see between your bodies to where Alastor was, dark and unusually shiny tentacles pushing up against Luci’s ass. 

Your breath got trapped in your throat, making it difficult to reply when Alastor’s disembodied voice asked you, “Would you like to be stretched, darling? To take Luci?” 

Lucifer looked down at your face, red and staring at the scene behind him, “Looks like a yes.” You nodded.

Slippery with lube, you felt something slide into you with ease, tapered and gentle. Conveniently, Alastor was able to shift the width of his summoned tentacles at will, waiting to hear Luci’s sounds dip into more pleasure than just adjustment, he let his tendrils grow in him. 

He could hear Lucifer’s moans get muffled as Luci resumed kissing you, tongue roaming into your mouth to taste you. Alastor felt compelled to bring his hand to his own growing erection, watching his extensions push into you both. His little pair of does, waiting eagerly for him. He found himself confused by what the sight was doing to him. Like collecting souls but a different part of his brain was lighting up. Quite the different collection. Two people, one a keen and kind woman unneeding in anyone’s company but deserving everyone’s affection; the other the unparalleled King of Hell, former favorite of God. One too good for his bloodied hands. One too regal to kneel to him.

Yet both lying soft before him and moaning around his extensions. 

The room was spinning now for Alastor. Cock weeping as he lazily touched himself.

The thought came to him to just ignore Luci’s part in this and fuck you both in whatever way he could, but in the growing haze of his power high he managed to remember the point of this. Teamwork. He could dominate you both, reminding you who was the one “wearing the pants” (when behind closed doors) another day. 

You felt Lucifer’s cock stiffening against your thigh, bringing a whimper out of you. 

“Enough,” Luci groaned.

“What’s that, your majesty?” Not an honest question.

“Enough stretching. Fuck me.”

Alastor felt a small twitch of annoyance, “Very demanding, aren’t we?” But when Luci wiggled his butt side to side, the feeling fell apart. Memories of Luci’s soft flesh flooding back. A different taste to you, but one he still enjoyed. A snack he actually could see himself craving.

“Can I come in, kitten?” Luci’s lips were soft and puffy from repeated kisses to your own. Speaking was still a struggle but you managed to croak, “Yes please.”

“Kittens ready, Bambi.” Not said as mockingly as it usually was.

You felt the tendril slide out of you and Luci’s heat prod at your entrance. Lucifer kissed you, tongue feeling over yours and distracting you before thrusting his considerable length in. One long intrusion, lubed lips sliding as he sunk in. Buried to the hilt, Luci sucked on your tongue as you tensed under his lithe body. He stayed busy with your mouth until you relaxed again.

His tail whipped up and found Alastor’s heat, slipping around and hooking under his balls and tugging the sinner gently toward his ass.

Alastor began to wonder if he had actually won the rock paper scissors match or not. He didn’t intend to make the breathy moan in response, Lucifer beckoning him to enter his now softened hole. Claws settling into the smaller man’s hips as he stared for a moment where Lucifer’s cock was hidden in you. He could see your wetness pushing out with tiny twitches. 

He pressed down and forward on Luci, spreading his cheeks before pressing into his body. You felt Luci’s breath hitch, watching his face as he moaned, “Fuuuck.”

Was this fair? Were you too lucky of a sinner? Was there a second hell you should be sent to?

As Alastor entered Lucifer, you felt Luci’s cock moving in you. As Alastor pulled out, Luci’s own pulled back a little too. As Alastor thrust in, so did Luci. Your head craned back, stomach tightening as you considered you were somehow fucked by Alastor by way of Luci’s movements. How could you feel so close to someone you weren’t touching? How could you feel Alastor through the warm skin of Lucifer? 

Luci lifted himself up on his elbows, eyes closed as he let delicious sounds tumble from his throat and down to you.  

Lucifer always enjoyed hugs, and this could be considered the ultimate hug! Ass full of Alastor, cock sheathed in you, he felt impossibly loved. Alastor was panting behind him, cock still growing in Lucifer with every pull of his clenching asshole. You breathing heavy under him, his impressive cockhead knocking at your womb.

Aah, he wanted more. He wanted to feel more. Surrounded by pleasure and breaths and warmth and wetness. Horns began to grow slowly from his forehead, the prideful king feeling greed. More. Give him everything. Fuck him like he was the downfall of man, because he fucking was. He tempted humanity into ruin so ruin him in turn. He gave humans sin, now return the favor.

“Alastor-!,” Lucifer rolled back onto Alastor, dragging his swollen cock past your g-spot as he did, “I won’t break. Fuck me.”

Alastor’s hips stilled, he felt his vision distort in front of him but had no time to regain composure as Lucifer began pushing on and off him. He could hear your suddenly high pitched moans coming from somewhere, his eyes closing. 

Torn. Listen to the command and destroy the tiny body under him? Or disobey, and miss out on the pleasure of losing control?

He didn’t have to decide, eyes opening in time to watch Lucifer look back over his shoulder as he bounced his ass on Alastor’s crotch, “Breed me, Allie.”

Alastor wasn’t aware he had kinks, nor that the word had any meaning other than ‘bend’, but that didn’t stop his body���s reaction.

You shuddered, the words going straight to your crotch. Which is also where Luci’s cock was stuffed back as Alastor fucked down into the man with punishing force and speed. Luci’s eyes were losing focus above you. His movements into you just the bouncing of his hips as Alastor now seemed fully intent on chasing some impossible goal.

Just past Luci’s horns you could see dark branch like antlers reaching out. The feeling of Luci snapping in and out of you, just a few inches actually leaving you but it was enough, had your mouth hanging open with soundless gasps. You could feel yourself getting wetter around him, dripping down your cheeks.

Luci’s eyes tried to stay on you, fighting back the call of subspace, “Kiss me, kitten. I need to feel you, too.”

He leaned down and offered his open mouth, tongue snaking out. You sat up on your arms to reach. Licking up his tongue and to his lips before closing your mouth around his. He tangled with you, occupying your mouth and pussy.

Alastor’s mind was fuzzy around the edges as he tore his eyes from Luci’s hole to watch you two kissing. A fire was burning through him, an arousal he hadn’t felt before when seeing people kiss. Perhaps because you two were his. 

Could he say that? His hips didn’t stop, humping Lucifer’s backside like an animal in rut. Rut. He lifted one leg, bending his knee to get more power behind his thrusts. 

Alastor grabbed Luci’s right wrist and held it at the small of Luci’s back and pushed down. Luci crashed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Alastor’s freehand came to your bent legs and left small scratches up the sides of your thighs.

You tapped Luci twice on his arm where your hands were gripping. His tail sent the message to Alastor’s waist where it had the larger demon leashed.

A lighthouse in the fog, Alastor took both hands off of you and Lucifer and slowed, waiting.

“Don’t crush her, Alastor. Just me.” Lucifer sighed, taking the chance to catch his breath. 

Alastor rubbed your thighs, gentle circles massaging into you, “Forgive me, wont you? Momentarily lost my senses.”

You clenched around Luci, who moaned out your name in response. Alastor took a second to survey the sex pile before him. He took a hold of both Luci’s wrists and pulled Luci’s chest off of you, “Did I hear you right? You won't break?” Alastor spoke into Luci’s shoulder before cutting into skin with his teeth. Lucifer could only groan, “Nngh Alas—-,” clenched teeth through a wave of pleasure and pain, “-stor.”

Your hands reached up to pet at Lucifer’s body. As Alastor started again you pressed down gently where you could see Alastor pushing out beneath Lucifer’s stomach. Luci bit his lip. Hands here and there, body used and petted. Your cunt super heated and dripping around him, making obscene sounds every time his skin was pulled from yours. This is what he wanted. 

Lucifer felt Alastor expanding in him, blood rushing for a final push before his orgasm. He wanted to feel it, Alastor’s hot cum flooding him. 

“Please, fill me up,” it was the last full sentence Luci could manage as Alastor slipped back into primal autopilot. Hips pistoning into Luci’s ass with sharp and sticky slaps. 

“Ffuuuuu-,” Luci’s moans melted into pleasured screams, his voice suddenly higher as the air was fucked out of his body. Muscles tightening, he wished he could hold your hand as his orgasm surprised him. 

Your gentle sounds, noises pushed out of your body with the slide of Luci’s cock against your cervix, quieted as you felt a rush of warmth. You were quickly becoming addicted to that feeling.

“Cumming?” Alastor asked, hearing Luci’s change of pitch and feeling the sudden spasms so strong around his dick it felt like Luci was sucking him in to his body. You moved your head to finally get a good look at Alastor.

He was sweating, face flush and lips peppered with tiny cuts from where his teeth bit down too hard. You nodded to him, Luci going completely silent as his eyes seemed to spin in his skull. 

Alastor’s smile softened at the sight of you, “Feeling good, dear?”

“Best hangover ever.”’ You said.

He hummed happily, lowering Luci’s upper body to rest on you, he lifted Luci’s ass up with both hands and fucked the devil with no worries of hurting you. Luci made a kind of half gasp half squeak with every thrust. A whimpered, “slower, sensitive” into your neck. As Alastor milked himself empty with Luci’s taut hole, Luci’s dick slipped out of you, soft and sticky head being swung against your clit with the after-thrusts of Alastor’s orgasm.

You had two thoughts. One, you were suddenly grateful for Alastor’s normally nearly non-existent sex drive. If you all attempted this as often as Luci and You enjoyed sex, you’d all be raw and dehydrated on a daily basis. And Two, you were so horny still that it nearly hurt. Unaware women could get blue balls, you pushed your thighs together and ground up a little into Lucifer.

A moment of silence. The two partners above you riding out their shared sensations, Alastor still very slowly moving, Lucifer hissing with your body hitting at this overly stimulated dick.

Luci rolled off of you to return to your right side. Alastor walked to the bathroom, cleaning himself before returning to your left side. Your breath was finally calming, covers pulled over your quickly cooling bodies. Alastor pulled you into him, spooning you as you faced Luci.

Lucifer was glowing, everything had gone to plan. He knew Alastor would never let him have you to the extent he wanted. Not while he saw Lucifer as a threat to the relationship. And while he had accepted that initial offering of sex with you with zero interest in Alastor, he had come to find him…palatable. If being with you meant being with Alastor, too, he had decided during your praise of them at the party the other night that he would endear the radio demon to him. 

He shuddered at the emptiness he felt now. Maybe the plan had worked too well…was he such a great deceiver he managed to trick himself into liking Alastor?

Luci watched your hand snake between your thighs as you opened them under the covers. Soft features now erotic, eyes half lidded and mouth agape, he realized Alastor had taken to task helping you finish. He took the opportunity to kiss your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. He whispered sweet compliments and praise into your flushed skin as you lazily found a small release around Alastor. The ache melted from lap as you finally snapped that string of tension. 

You pulled off of Alastor and crawled over Luci, “You’re in the middle today.” You took your place as big spoon and watched Alastor scoot closer to Luci, eyes nervously looking everywhere else.

Perhaps it was the hormones from his arousal, or the debauched scent in the air of sex, but he was seeing that space you typically occupied not as an obstacle to the person on the other side but a bridge. Luci lied there, spent and grinning. He was a connection to you, a shared something Alastor wasn’t comfortable confronting yet that deepened the well of affection you each pulled from.

His let his arm extend, resting on Lucifer’s hip as your own hugged Luci from behind. As post orgasm exhaustion dragged you into an early sleep, you drifted off to the sight of Alastor smiling at you, his hand settling beside Luci’s on the pillow.

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 4: APHRODISIACS

grand admiral thrawn x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire.

cw: f!princess!reader, aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 5: CLOTHES ON ⇾

Perhaps others in your position would consider you a coward. The rebel alliance had pushed a revolutionary manifesto that had bled into the heart of each Empire-subjugated civilian in the galaxy, many taking up arms against the gigantic fleet of storm-trooper manned ships. 

However, lacking a large military and without weaponry or manpower, your small planet lay at the mercy of the Empire leviathan. The decorative crown placed atop your head was just that— embellishment. The significance of your birthright was as vexing to Grand Admiral Thrawn as a speck of dust on his pristine white uniform. A simple brush of his palm enough to toss any resistance aside. 

The hologram Thrawn sent you upon arrival to your galaxy was intended as an olive branch, one you gratefully received. A promise of clemency on the condition that you attend a dinner upon the Chimaera warship. 

“Princess,” Thrawn muses as he walks you towards the vast dining table, his own body language almost regal as he directs you to your seat, “I hope you don’t mind that I took liberty with the selection of delicacies I provided.” 

You had no quarrel; it was like a feast mosaic. Gorgeous, vibrant pomegranates split down the middle to expose the glistening seeds, strawberries doused in dark chocolate and shucked oysters fanned out on a plate of salt. 

“I am grateful for anything you provide, Grand Admiral,” you answer him politely as he pulls out a chair for you. You sit with a small smile, attempting to appease the man that balanced your planet’s fate on the end of his trigger finger. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Thrawn’s lips pull up in a smirk, the silky timbre of his voice dripping like molasses off the edge of your spine, warming something deep in your abdomen that makes you blush. 

Without ceremony, he settled in his seat across the table. Those crimson eyes pass over your frame with a gaze so heavy it’s as though you feel it dance across your skin, leaving flames in its wake. 

“I recommend the oysters, your highness,” he addresses you respectfully with your title. “Freshly farmed a few hours ago.” 

Upon his insistence, you began to feast. A polite silence falls between you, Thrawn’s eyes set on you as he watches you relish the flavour of the delicate oysters. He looks pleased. 

You cannot deny the warmth that creeps across your skin the longer he looks at you. Thrawn's presence makes you almost dizzy, but the fear that had prickled at the base of your neck when you had been informed of his arrival had been replaced with something far more titillating. 

“I must offer you my appreciation for your willingness to collaborate with the Empire, your highness, Thrawn praises you while you take a moment to sip the red wine you had been offered upon arrival. “I think you will find that I serve at your pleasure.”

“So it would seem,” you smile weakly, glancing across the table top. Pomegranate, oysters, wine. Your mind felt numb, slow to connect the thread that ran through each item— a singular quality they all shared. 

“I wish to assure you of my commitment to ensuring you and your people are appropriately cared for,” Thrawn continues, elegantly standing from his seat at the head of the table and approaching where you sat like a Groundlion; a creature you knew belonged to the Chiss star system. “That our relationship continues to develop organically.” 

The air around you vibrates as he approaches, your heart lurching. You had not failed to note the double meaning and slight innuendo to his comments. Flush paints your cheeks when you feel the slick wetness between your thighs, unable to look the Chiss in the eyes as he stands before you. 

The Grand Admiral’s azure palm takes hold of your chin gently, tilting your head back and forcing you to look him in the eye. He’s poised, ice cold and stoic while he watches you burn up. “Don’t you agree?”

Pomegranate, wine, oysters. Pomegranate. Wine. Oysters. 

Thrawn’s fingertips glide down your throat, tracing the dip of your sternum down down beneath your naval, leaving a devastating trail of arousal in the wake of his feather-light touch. 

Pomegranate. Red Wine. Oysters. 

Aphrodisiacs. 

“Ah—“ you gasp the moment the word comes to mind, Thrawn’s fingertip brushing the curve of your sex and finding against your swollen, throbbing clit through the layers of fabric. Your eyes roll back, knuckles bleaching as he steadily and oh so easily works his hand beneath your skirts. Each motion is fluid, as easy as breathing. 

“Apologies, your highness,” Thrawn spoke, his timbre even and mind-bendingly steady in comparison to your broken breaths of ecstasy. His fingers work through your folds, spreading your pussy lips and collecting your slick across his cerulean fingerprints. “I didn’t quite catch your reply.” 

There’s a vague cruelty to his tone, enjoying your suffering. His eyes are glued to your expression, watching it crumple with desperation as he removes his touch from your sex raising his slick-drenched fingers to his lips and relishing in the taste when he presses the digits to his tongue. 

Your chest heaves, utterly undignified with your thighs still spread in the hopes he’ll touch you again, trembling with need. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s eyes slip closed with a quiet hum of appreciation, removing his fingers from his tongue. 

“Exquisite,” he husks, eyes dropping to you once more. 

“Please—“ you beg him, far beyond the political ramifications and the threat of being labelled a co-conspirator. 

“A princess should not beg,” he scolds you with an even tone, his hand easily working itself between your thighs once again, immediately finding your swollen clit and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It’s tortuous, your body practically folding in on itself at the devastating arousal that causes slick to leak down your thighs. “She should command her subject. Demand their service.” 

You cannot even muster a plea of mercy, rocking your hips forward to grind your clit against his knuckles. He appears to savour the way pleasure contorts your expression, your brows knitting together and jaw falling slack as you chase the high that had so suddenly threatened to burst through you like a blaster charge. 

“It would appear that we are destined to have a successful working relationship, your highness,” Thrawn muses, the flat expression on his face doing little to hide the gleeful glint in his eye at just how easy it was to reduce you to a trembling wreck. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You have no time to answer, no chance to even suck air into your lungs before your vision goes white. Pure hot plasma bursts through your abdomen, running hot and thick like the magma on Mustafar. Sobbed wails of Thrawn’s name, sans his title pour from your lips as you grasp desperately at his wrist, drawing crimson blood from his cobalt wrist when you dig your nails in. 

Over the roar of the blood in your ears, rapid heart pounding in your ears as Thrawn continuous to torture your clit through the orgasm that threatens to obliterate you, you hear a twinge in the Grand admiral’s voice. Smug. 

“So it would seem.” 

star wars/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @saradika @mylifeisactuallyamess

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[miniimapp]

Aaron X shy autistic reader who likes to give him rocks and random things they find like dead bugs as affectionate(and there physically affectionate too)

-🐞Anon

Genre ;; Headcanons - Fluff

Warnings ;; None

Proofread + Edited ;; Barely

Auth. Note ;; sorry for the late reply !! was v sick writing this so pls forgive mistakes and the shortness

wasn't sure which aaron you were requesting,, so i just did both lmaoo

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

Aaron T - Bug Kid 4 Life

babe,, you have met your mirror in T fr

ultimate bug kid

though, he's not the fondest of spiders but who is ??

(except Tae,, but we all know he doesn't count)

he'll find you squatted down buzzing over some of the surface creepy crawlies and will immediately join you

in fact, most times you could probably find him out there before you, staring down at them

T's the type of guy to roleplay with the bugs too, adopting some haughty voice and telling the bugs how uncivilised they are compared to him

he knows it makes you laugh too

everytime he does this, his regal character becomes more and more over the top

like,, crazily so

my man is not, however, a geography fan

geology even less so

T has never met an ignatious rock before and he never cared to before, but hearing you talk so passionately about them has struck up some kind of interest

wait its not ignatious ??

BABE!! what was the fire type rock called??

yeah,, fire type rocks are his favourite, the uh igneous ?? yeah,, igneous ones

yeah, he's only interested in "fire type" rocks, because they're obviously the coolest and most powerful

he could listen to you talk about igneous rocks for forever

other rocks too, but man,, does he love an igneous rock

if you don't already have a rock collection, you're gonna want to start one because as soon as T learns your favourite type of rock ??

oh,, it's OVER, he's picking up every cool looking rock he sees, asking if it's your favourite type and handing it over immediately if is and going to his hunting if not

it's crazy, T is set on building you a rock collection

you guys also for sure have a pet rock, and his name IS Rocky

bffr what else could it possibly be ??

come on now

Rocky is also the first rock you ever gifted T

the one you gave him a few weeks into dating

he takes Rocky out on all your adventures and on tour, so he has a piece of home whenever he misses you

in T you have a kin spirit, a fellow bug kid and rock enthusiast (but especially fire type)

Aaron Z - Confused but He's Got the Spirit

i'll be honest babe,, Z didn't get it at first

honestly he still doesn't really get it

but 'getting it' doesn't matter to him all that much

because whether or not he understands why your love language consists of "look at this cool bug!!" and "here's a rock, it's really smooth",, he loves how much joy these things bring you

if picking out the best rocks as gifts for him is how you convey your love

if infodumping about your favourite bugs integral role in the local ecosystem is how you show your trust

then he's content with whatever rocks you throw his way,, and whatever creepy crawlies you let crawl over your hands

and honestly i feel that's a huge show of respect and trust on his part too

bc Z isn't fond of bugs

just straight up is icked out by them

but because they interest you,, he's more than happy to sit with you as you pick them up to show him

without word of complaint, he'll let bring you them closer to his face than he'd normally prefer

he's someone who enjoys when his partner gets passionate

when they get caught up in an interest and fall into a ramble

Z is a listener,, and he'll pay close attention to the things that excite you the most about your interests

the bits that make your eyes widen and shine, the bits that have you speed talking in your excitement, or slowing down down to really focus on them

he'll pick out those parts and make sure to have questions about them, just so he can hear you tell him more about your interests and passions

so,, while he may not fully understand these parts of you, he more than wholeheartedly accepts and loves them because he loves you

all of you

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

hope you enjoyed <3

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 4 - ‘tis the damn season

a/n: new chapter for you!! a little longer than usual, but i had so much fun writing this one :)) the slow burn is slow burning, but we’re finally getting somewhere! it will pay off, i promise <3

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 4.7k

series masterlist

The word ‘stress’ does not even begin to describe how you are feeling at the moment. This time of year is always the worst, right before Christmas holiday. All the final exams fall in the same week, right before the end of the term, and not to mention your final project for English; the essay.

Which wasn’t coming along too badly, you realize. You and Farleigh have actually made impressive progress, and not to be too prideful, but this might be the best essay you’ve ever written. But definitely not because of his help. No, you’ve done most of it. He’s just been there for… moral support? And… occassionally adding worthwhile things to the writing. Occasionally.

In fact, you unfortunately have started to grow fond of his presence and his company. He’s not a bad guy, you’ve realized. He’s quite funny, and has a certain way of dragging a giggle out of you or causing a smile to tug at your lips, in contrast to your usual resting bitch face. You’re going to miss those late nights spent in his room, considerably past curfew, meaning you typically had to sneak back to your own dorm as carefully as possible. You can’t seem to figure out why time goes by so fast when you’re with him, whether it’s because you’re trying to finish up a project or because of… other reasons.

Lately, you’ve also been finding yourself to be very nervous whenever he speaks to you. Your voice trembles, you suddenly forget your whole vocabularly, and that stupid blush that always creeps onto your face, feeling like flames on your cheeks.

You only have a bit of editing and revising to do on the essay before it is ready to turn in. Some finishing touches. Which means it will be ready to turn in next Friday, a week from today, the last day of the term before winter holiday.

You throw the covers off of yourself and yawn, climbing out of bed. This weekend will be brutal, since you’ve designated it to studying for exams, which means a few late nights spent at the library. But for some reason, you feel excited to go to class today. English class, specifically. You slip out of your pajamas and fold them neatly into a drawer.

As you step into your skirt and tug on your white button-up, you glance at your calendar posted on the wall. You feel warm just thinking about returning home to see your family in Bath. You picture your mother’s welcoming smile and your father’s comforting embrace, and those evenings you will spend gathered around the fireplace, regaling them with tales from your first term of the school year as you stuff your face with sweets. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get snow. The last time you had a white Christmas was… well, you can’t even seem to remember.

You observe yourself in the mirror as you work on tying your tie, suddenly hyper-aware of your appearance. You comb your fingers through your hair, realizing you haven’t brushed it yet. You step over to your chest of drawers and grab your hairbrush, dragging it through your hair quite aggressively. You’ve never cared much about how you look, it’s always been more of a personality thing. How others perceived you was what mattered, but not in a physical aspect.

But who are you trying to impress? You scoff sarcastically at the idea, shaking your head. You throw your brush onto your bed before grabbing a pair of black socks, pulling them up your legs. And finally, your trusty jacket, provided to you by the school. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but at least it looks cool with your uniform. You hurriedly step into your shoes once you’ve buttoned your coat and race back to the mirror, brushing through your hair one last time. Does it look okay? You think. Should I tie it up? Or at least do something with it?

No. You shake your head and bop yourself on the head with the brush. “That’s enough,” You say under your breath, as if to silence your own thoughts. You sling your bag over your shoulder and as you’re walking to the door, your stomach lurches as a sudden realization comes over you.

You’re trying to look good for Farleigh. What the hell are you on?! You slap a hand to your forehead and groan dramatically. Suddenly, you think of Clara and all her random appearances she’s been making, flirting with him and twirling her hair. What does she do differently?

Her skirt. She rolls it up on purpose to make it shorter. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you return to the mirror once again. You tentatively roll your skirt up at the waistband, making it a bit shorter. You’ve always followed dresscode, the fingertip rule. But if she can get away with it, so can you, right?

You step back and admire your long legs and your thighs. Wait, what on Earth are you doing? Your face burns with humiliation. You’re basically trying to seduce a man. No, not even a man. A boy! An immature, stupid, extremely handsome boy.

You trudge back to your door determinedly, swinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, locking it behind you. You picture Farleigh’s face in your mind as you walk through the corridor and down the stairs. His caramel skin, his eyes that remind you of chocolate, his perfect teeth, his curls… Fuck.

And the weather isn’t helping. You sort of regret adjusting your skirt now, since you’ve just given the freezing air more opportunity to bite at your skin. It seems today you might actually be on time to class, though. You reach the door to the east wing and step inside, seeing a group of students gathered outside Mrs. Chasteen’s door.

You squint harder and realize it’s your class. You curiously walk over and spot Magdalena, so you tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and her face immediately brightens. “Hey! You’re early for once in your life.” She grins and you shove her playfully. “Oh, come off it. Is she not here today?” You point to the door and she quirks an eyebrow. “No, I think she’s here. Sometimes it just takes a while for her to get here, and we show up before her.” She shrugs. “But what would you know? You’re always dashing in at the last second.” Lena tsks and shakes her head, wagging a finger at you.

“Ready for holiday?” You ask. Her eyes brighten at the mention of the upcoming break. “Oh my God. You don’t even know how ready I am.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “But we have to get through those bloody exams first. At least we got our GCSEs done last year.” Lena nudges you softly with her shoulder. “True.” You nod in agreement. You truly believed those blasted tests were going to be the death of you.

At that moment, Lena’s gaze leaves yours and travels slightly upwards, to something in the distance. Or someone, rather.

“There’s your shadow.” She points with a quiet little giggle. “Wha-” You turn to follow her eyes. Shit. You immediately turn back to Lena, your heart racing as panic starts to set in. You start to feel hot, despite the cold air of the corridor.

“What do you mean ‘my shadow’?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, hoping she elaborates. “I mean, you two are always together. And he follows you around like a lost puppy. I know I’m not the only one who notices it.” She lowers her voice to a hurried whisper.

“Maybe because we’re working on the final project together?!” You whisper back harshly. “Mm. Right.” She nods and crosses her arms, spinning on her heel to go chat with someone else. “Lena! Lena, don’t leave me!” You whisper-scream after her, but she doesn’t turn back for you.

“What was that about?” You already know it’s him before you even register who’s speaking. You spin around, much closer to Farleigh than you thought. You stare up at him awkwardly, pretty much eye-level with his chest. You step back cautiously.

“Uh. You know…” For such a large vocabularly you claim to hold, it seems to be failing you at the moment. “Erm. Girl things?” It comes out like more of a question than you mean it to. You feel that familiar burn scorching up your neck and onto your cheeks. Fuck, it always gives you away.

“Girl things?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Yep. Like, periods and stuff.” You freeze, your brain registering what just came out of your mouth. Oh, good Lord. Your eyes shoot down to the ground as you suddenly become interested in the stonework.

“Oh. That’s… cool. I guess.” He replies just as awkwardly, and for a minute you think that maybe he’s nervous too. No, he’s not. How else would you reply to a girl who’s just randomly brought up periods? There’s not much you can really say to that.

“Not really.” You shake your head and shift your weight onto your other leg, glancing back up at him. You really need to work on keeping your mouth shut during awkward moments.

And then, for one sliver of a second, you see his eyes trail down to your legs, and then quickly back up to your gaze. He clears his throat. “Our teacher seems to be late today,” He remarks.

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah. Maybe she’s just as sick of this as we all are.” You gesture to your fellow peers. You look back up to him, meeting his eyes once again. You swear, if you could just swim in them you would. You would make them your home and never leave their warmth. He stares back at you, his gaze unrelenting. You feel yourself growing hot once again, like you need to go back out into that chilling wind.

And then, your favorite person comes along, cheerfully skipping through the corridor, her steps echoing off the tall walls. She pauses mid-step, turning to you and Farleigh.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Clara grins, showing off her blinding white smile.

“Hello, Clara.” You mutter reluctantly. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Hey,” Farleigh replies. She steps oddly close to him, staring up at him with her baby blue eyes. Those must be her secret weapon, you think. She traces a finger down his chest and giggles. What the fuck is she doing? Farleigh’s face reddens and he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “What was that for?” He mutters. “No reason,” She shrugs with another giggle.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt jealousy this strong. It’s a feeling that bubbles up in your stomach, clawing its way up into your chest, burning through your veins like a fire. It’s an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you look at Clara and try to hide your distaste. How can he be enjoying this? Does he really like her? Your mind spins.

She steps back from him and flips her hair. “I really should be getting to class right now…” She says, looking around the hall. “You’d better get going, then,” You murmur under your breath before clearing your throat. The words kind of just slipped out before you could think about them. Clara glances over to you so quickly you swear she almost snaps her neck.

“What was that?” She asks with that saccharine smile playing on her lips. “I said you’d better get going, that’s all.” You smile right back at her. She looks like she’s biting back some snippy remark, before she flips the switch and smiles again. “You’re right. Don’t want to be late!” She winks at Farleigh before skipping off again.

You look down at your shoes for a moment, pondering what to say next before looking back up at him. To your surprise, he’s staring down at you, a look on his face that you can’t quite figure out.

“What was that about?” You ask, snickering nervously as if it’s humorous, when really the whole interaction made you want to die. He opens his mouth to speak, but then is interrupted by greetings from your classmates to Mrs. Chasteen. You turn around to see her turning the key to her classroom, fiddling with the doorknob before opening it. You decide it’s better to not talk about the Clara situation right now.

“So, you think we can get the essay done today?” Farleigh asks as you both walk to your usual table. “Possibly. If Mrs. Chasteen even allows us to work on it,” You reply, setting your things down and sitting. You tug at your skirt, which to your annoyance, continues to ride up your thighs. Fuck Clara and her stupid skirts.

“Look at her. She looks exhausted. Do you really think she wants to teach right now?” He subtly nods in your teacher’s direction. She’s sitting at her desk and sipping a mug of steaming tea, or perhaps coffee, you can’t tell which. She usually has bags under her eyes but today they seem more pronounced.

“She’s probably been grading a lot,” You mutter to him. He shrugs. “Or maybe she had a thrilling Thursday night out on the town,” He whispers, nudging you playfully with his arm. The heat of the proximity has you burning up, inside and out. It makes you want to snuggle up next to him and chase his heat, especially on this cold winter’s day. You remind yourself to laugh at his comment.

“Mrs. Chasteen? Going out? Yeah, when pig’s fly.” You giggle genuinely at the thought. “I’m serious! We should do a stake out,” A boyish grin spreads across his face, lazy and lovely and truly beautiful. You drink in the sight, taking in his features and wishing you could screenshot this moment with your brain and keep it tucked away for later.

“She’s married, you idiot.” You swat him on the arm and his stupidly charming grin only intensifies. “Well, you’d be surprised.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his long legs. God, you usually hate when men do that. But…

Your eyes betray you. Fuck, he’s so handsome. And tempting. You’ve never had such scandalized thoughts about someone before. You start to wonder what he would look like with his shirt collar loosened, or with the buttons undone. Or maybe with just his tie on.

You hear your name suddenly, interrupting your diabolical thoughts. “Are you okay?” Farleigh asks. Shit. You’ve spent too much time analyzing his appearance and imagining him with less clothes.

You already know your face is giving you away with the pure heat that warms your cheeks. “Oh.” You say stupidly. What the fuck?! You curse yourself internally.

“Yeah. I’m great. Sorry, I was just… thinking about–” Think. Think of something. An excuse. Anything.

“The essay. Mhm.” You nod aggressively almost to convince yourself rather than him. “What about it?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with intrigue.

“I think it’s gonna be… so good,” You lose your train of thought once again as your eyes focus between his legs this time. Did he choose tighter pants today on purpose, or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you glance back up at him.

His eyes widen. You freeze and immediately turn to face the front of the classroom with a loud swallow. Thank God for Mrs. Chasteen.

She clears her throat. “I’m not feeling too well today, hence my late arrival. Feel free to work on your essay. Or whatever it is that you want to do…” She waves her hand dismissively and then continues organizing things at her desk. The chatter in the classroom resumes.

“Told ya,” Farleigh says, clearly happy with himself and his prediction. Normally, you would make some quippy remark about how this is the one time he’s right and he’d better enjoy it while it lasts. But instead you remain silent, pulling out your laptop.

It’s your last night to study and cram all possible information into your mind before finals week. You’re not even sure your brain has anymore room to store said information. Nevertheless, you feel slightly more confident about your tests than you did before your first night at the library on Friday. And, you and Farleigh finished the essay and turned it in.

You yawn and check the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop’s screen. Sunday, 10:03 PM. Your tired eyes widen and glance around. To your surprise, many students are still gathered here, almost every desk full. Lucky for you (and everyone else), the library has extended hours during the week before end of term exams. You believe it closes at three AM, since keeping it open any later would encourage students to pull an all nighter. Which they probably do anyways when they get back to their dorm.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around. “Hey.” Farleigh smiles down at you. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight of him. “Hi,” You respond, your voice coming out at a higher pitch than you expected. You cringe internally.

“You look like hell,” He says. His voice carries a teasing lilt, so you play along and poke him. “Let me guess, you’ve been here since… six?” He tilts his head in a way that reminds you of a puppy.

“Six thirty, to be precise,” You reply with a sarcastic eye roll. “Jesus. What a tryhard,” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Shut up. Showing up to study at ten PM is arguably worse. Do you always wait until the last possible minute?” You scoff but it turns into more of a giggle than you intended. He sits down next to you.

“I’m smart enough to where I can wait ‘til the last minute.” He flashes a grin at you before twisting in his seat to pull out some books from his bag. “Well, we’ll see once we get exam scores back.” You sigh.

“Oh, really? You wanna make a bet?” Farleigh questions in an oddly flirtatious tone. “Mhm,” Once you realize he’s staring at you, you feel a tingle shoot down your spine as you slowly turn to meet his eyes. His gaze is hot and heavy and it almost melts you on the spot. You inhale a shaky, quiet breath.

“What will you give me if I make a better grade than you?” He asks, his voice lower and seemingly quieter than before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout you while an unwelcome swarm of butterflies makes their home in your stomach.

You cough loudly into your arm to interrupt the moment, mainly because you’re scared of how you would respond to such a flirtatious question. You don’t trust your mouth right now. Farleigh just laughs and returns to his textbooks, flipping through them.

Why does he say stuff like that? It only gets your hopes up that he might return your feelings. Which, of course, he never will. Why did you get cursed with this obsession? Well, you wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just a… crush. No, that sounds too childish. You just like him.

You spend the next two hours studying with Farleigh. You write each other calculus problems for the other to solve, or you quiz each other on vocabulary for English, or dates for medieval history. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re having fun. It’s almost as if time speeds up while you’re in his presence. However, your eyes are burning and you’re struggling to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes snap open at Farleigh’s words. You had begun to drift off into slumber, slumped over in your chair. You sit up efficiently and nod. “Yeah.. sorry.” You let out a long sigh and attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers.

“You probably need to get some sleep,” He suggests, his voice soft as silk. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight to stay awake. “I’m okay, really.” Your last word is interrupted with a big yawn. You cover your mouth with embarrassment as he lets out a snort.

“It’s midnight. You need to get to bed.” He tells you more sternly this time. “Well what about you?” You question.

“Don’t worry about me.” He shakes his head and reaches his hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I guess I’ve studied enough,” You yawn again and close your eyes. Just for a moment, if only to rest them. You think.

About ten minutes later you awake to the sound of Farleigh’s voice again. “Do I need to take you to your dorm myself?” Your gaze slides over to him as he packs up his things. You let out a sleepy hum of disagreement. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. C’mon.” He stands up and pats you on the back.

You groan and grip the side of the table to support you as you stand up. You just stand there and watch as he packs up your own things, depositing them into your bag. “Can you carry it?” He asks, his eyes full of concern. You nod. “Alright. Let’s go,”

You both walk back to the dorms, with your occasional stumble, along with his occasional hand on your shoulder. You walk up the stairs, sleepiness weakening your legs. You eventually make it to your door and glance up towards Farleigh while blinking rapidly to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t think I studied enough–”

He holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. We studied more than enough. Sleep is what you need right now. Our English exam is at nine tomorrow morning. Or, today, actually.”

You’ve never seen him act with such kindness and care. Why is he doing all of this for you? And why is he being so nice? It’s suspicious, you think. But you push the thought aside as you unlock your room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile in an attempt to convey your gratefulness. You’re a little too prideful to say thank you right now. “Goodnight.” He pauses for a moment, just like he did the first time you were at his dorm, like he wants to say or do something else. You stare into his dark eyes, willing him to do something. Suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy.

But he just turns and walks away, probably back to his own dorm. Damn it! You feel stupid for being so hopeful. You step into your room and close the door angrily. He’s never going to admit anything, even if he also has feelings for you. Which you extremely doubt. And you’re never going to admit it either.

By the end of the week, you’re more exhausted than ever, but very relieved. Exams went smoother than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a table waiting to get all of your results.

“Last name?” The random teacher whom you’ve never had asks, glancing up at you. You tell her your last name, and she fishes through a folder divided alphabetically by last name.

“Ah. Here you are.” She pulls out a packet and inspects it first before handing it to you. Your hands suddenly feel clammy compared to the smooth surface of the paper. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you,” You smile gratefully before turning around and quickly walking to the nearest bench to sit down and flip through the pages. A wave of relief crashes over you as you see your near perfect grades. Your lowest was a 96% on calculus, which you consider a pretty amazing achievement. You sigh with relief and close your eyes, leaning against the wall. You finished the fall term well.

You shove the packet into your backpack and put on your big coat and your beanie, preparing to venture out into the cold to pack up the last of your things to head home. Last night a huge snowstorm passed through London, so you delightfully woke up this morning to what looked like powdered sugar dusted upon the roof outside your window. It felt almost like the universe’s way of wishing you good luck on everything.

You walk outside on the cleared path with shoveled piles of snow hugging the sides. Breathing in the crisp yet calm air, you look around and take in your surroundings. The bustling groups of fellow students chatting excitedly about their scores, red cardinals hopping from tree to tree, snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky and joining the glittering snow upon the ground.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called from a distance, and then footsteps. You turn around to see Farleigh jogging toward you.

“Farleigh!” Unfortunately, you cannot hide your adoration whenever you see him and your content smile breaks into a foolish grin.

“So? How’d you do?” He asks with excitement. Oh, how the tables have turned. Usually he would start by bragging about his own results, and now he starts by asking you about yours. You quite enjoy how this friendship has grown.

“I did really good. My lowest was a 96!” You tell him. He beams, and then his eyes narrow. “On – let me guess – calculus?” He asks with suspicion. “Shut up!” You exclaim, punching him rather hard before turning serious. “Yes.”

He snickers and rubs his arm. “You pack a good punch,” He smiles, and you swear you can even see it in his chocolate brown eyes. You’re going to miss him over the holiday.

“So, what about you?” You ask while he falls into step next to you as you continue your walk. “Lowest was a 97. On history.” He cringes and you allow a satisfied smirk to break through.

“History?!” You giggle. “Shut up. My strengths are science and math, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. You’re beginning to love his sarcastic eyerolls. But then again, you think you always have.

“Hm. I thought you didn’t have any weaknesses. Academically, I mean.” You nudge him.

Farleigh shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t call them weaknesses. I’m just better at some subjects.”

Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk and onto the snow. A squeal escapes you as he lets go, and then you look up to see him reaching down to pick up some snow. After he gathers a sufficient amount, he starts to pack it into a sphere. Oh no.

“Farleigh, no! Wait!” You scream, but it’s not really a terrified scream, more like a giggly one. But it’s too late. The snowball hurdles toward you and eventually crumbles once it meets your coat. An uncontrollable fit of giggles comes over you as you crouch down, packing snow into your hands.

You launch the snowball at him and he gasps with betrayal. “How dare you!” He shouts playfully. You’re so weak with laughter that you fall down into the snow. You look up to see a few other people joining in, throwing snowballs and running around. You can’t remember a time in the last few months when you have been happier.

Eventually, Farleigh sits next to you on the ground. You look up to see bits of snow adorably sprinkled throughout his hair. Something gives you the nerve to lean your head on his shoulder. He stiffens, only slightly, before relaxing and letting out a short sigh.

“Farleigh Start, I think I’m going to miss you,” You admit sheepishly. You can feel him turn his head a bit towards you, his breath grazing your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only three weeks.” You recognize the tease in his voice. “But I tend to have that effect on people.” You can also hear the grin in his voice. You smile and make patterns in the snow as you both sit in comfortable silence.

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

My thoughts on The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes movie

I don’t know if I liked it as much as the original films (maybe Mockingjay 1 & 2 as they are pretty emotionally draining), but I still enjoyed it.

I think where it fell a little flat for me is 1. The beginning was a bit slow (tbh I only really started getting interested when Lucy Gray stuck that snake down that girl’s dress & even then I enjoyed the story more when the setting changed from the Capitol to the district) 2. I knew Snow would survive 3. I’d already been spoiled online for a lot of stuff that happens & 4. while I know the director did his best to make Snow as “likeable” as he could for as long as possible, even before he started getting “a little too comfortable” with killing & snitching I didn’t find him as sympathetic as Katniss or Peeta (but that is probably again down to the fact that I know what he goes onto do & there’s no real way around that), this made engaging with him difficult for me.

The world is fascinating. Getting to see all the new locations we never had access to before as well as old locations now in a totally different light (for example district 12 which, while still clearly suffering, seemed like such a bustling industrial town compared to how it is in Katniss’s time). It might have a much more retro aesthetic but there's also just a more vibrant, natural, wild & lawless atmosphere to this movie compared to the others in the franchise. The whole scope of the film just felt more cinematic then I remember the others being yet also weirdly intimate. Maybe because it was one contained story & we knew the main character’s fate from the start. I also loved the title cards signifying the start of each section of the story like from the books & wished they'd done something similar for the other films. It just added a certain flair to the whole thing. Almost gave it the vibe of a tragic play.

The costuming was great. The bright red of the academy uniforms.  Flickerman’s snazzy suits. Snow’s dapper black & white outfit. Both peace keeper uniforms (despite one of them giving very ‘1930’s Germany’ vibes) looked great. Grandma might have been a bigot, but at least she was well dressed. Everything Dr Gaul wore (except the top that looked like a used tampon, lol) was exquisite. The main ladies of fashion, Tigris & Lucy Gray slayed. Our Future Capitol stylist looked like some regal yet exotic bird & Miss Survivor was giving Bohemian, country girl realness the entire time she was on screen. Even the extras were serving (like that random couple Snow walked past on his way to the reaping ceremony).

The music was amazing. Every song that played was fantastic (shout out to Olivia for her end credit contribution). The lyrics & instrumentation were beautiful & my god does Rachel Zegler have pipes! Anyone who says the singing scenes are cringy is just stupid like I’m sorry you can’t appreciate art. Also, the words ‘ballad’ & ‘songbirds’ are literally in the title. Plus, Lucy Gray is from the poorest district, so what exactly do those people want her to do in her free time? She can’t exactly hop on an X-box for a few hours. Not too mention that (as the offspring of someone who’s musically inclined) I can tell you, it’s completely realistic for a musician to use their craft to help them deal with trauma & Lucy Gray clearly had more than her fair share of that.

The Grandma'am helped to paint a sadly very realistic background for Snow. As who among us hasn’t met at least one delusional old person who thinks that their/their group’s suffering (regardless of the severity of it or the reason behind their former/newer status in society) means that no one else are deserving of even the tiniest shred of humanity & there are some people who are unlucky enough to not only be related to these people but be raised by them.

Hunter schafer as Tigris is clearly the superior Snow when it comes to things like empathy & overall mental stability but I do kind of wish they’d been more for her to do. Credit where credit is due though her & Tom did actually look like they could be related & I did buy their familial bond (which makes her appearance in Mockingjay so much sadder in hindsight).

Peter Dinklage as Casca Highbottom was a bit of a mix for me just due to his purpose as a character & the limit of film as a form of media. Like sure the audience know that Snow’s going to become an irredeemable monster in the end but without a window into his mind it really does just seem like the Dean is just out to get him & even when we find out why it seems kind of unfair. Like sure his dad sucked but haven’t the Games shown that blaming children for violence caused by others is unjust (& like ok he hates Coriolanus & probably the grandma but Tigris hadn’t done anything to deserve living in poverty, as she can’t control who she’s related to)? Plus, it felt like he could have at least tried taking Snow under his wing at some point to try to hinder Dr Gual’s influence. Saying all of that, though, Peter Dinklage is great at playing an addict with depression & the idea that some drunken rambling could lead to such long-lasting suffering is terrifying. Also its pretty realistic that living with that kind of guilt & in such a cruel environment for that long would make most people jaded & bitter, even if they did have good intentions.

Omg we finally get a Mayor family on screen & they’re assholes! Madge would be so disappointed 😭. It was interesting to see how harsh & overall “boot licky” the mayor & his family seemed compared to decades later, which makes sense as the war wasn’t that long ago for them so the dad probably felt more incentive to align himself with the Capitol as well as not feeling very connected to the district people as 12’s decline probably didn’t fully set in until they really started running low on coal & Snow became president (oh I just know he wanted to blow that district off the map 😆). I also wouldn’t put it past Billy to come up with some sob story of how he really does love Mayfair but wicked Lucy Gray is somehow preventing them from being together. Still no excuse to try to send her to her death twice in one week, though. Definitely not a girl’s girl.

Ok, so a liar. Cheat. Drunk & someone who hits women. Is there anything good about Billy Taupe? Also, trying to get your ex back, while your current girlfriend is literally standing right next to you? Dude, have some god damn back bone! You made a choice, now stick to it. Also, fumbling Lucy Gray, for a girl like that? What’s it like having no brains or taste? Well, too bad, coz you’re stuck with her forever now, lol.

Viola Davies, the actress that you are. What else is there to say? Dr Gaul is almost comic book levels of insane. Like she is how the Right see women in STEM, on crack! I don’t know what she did to get into character, but whatever it was, it worked.

Jason Schwartzman as Lucretius Flickerman is a very interesting addition to the story despite playing such a small & seemingly insignificant role. He is strange in how unthreatening he is while also extremely blasé about the abhorrent violence he witnesses that it’s as funny as it is disturbing. Making him come across as  more human yet harsher than his son, who at least pretends to care about the tributes (in a very Capitol way, obviously but still). There’s also a polish & confidence to Tucci’s performance that I think Schwartzman did a great job of avoiding copying (despite knowing what audiences were probably expecting) because not only are their characters in entirely different stages of their careers but the whole ethos of the Hunger Games is different in Snow’s youth than it is in Katniss’s. Caesar is a well established presenter & during his time, the games have always been a success (minus the year with the tundra) that the entire Capitol is invested in & seemingly in support of. On the other hand Lucretius had the unique task of not only coming into a job like this with zero experience (I mean imagine going from announcing the weather to presenting the fucking hunger games) but also there were no vibes to try to emulate let alone guidelines to follow because he truly was the first person to do this. On top of that, the "event" his presenting has been panned for years as both boring & unethical. Schwartzman brought a slightly awkward, experimental, yet try hard vibe (like a comedian who's desperate to get a laugh) that I think worked wonderfully for the character.

Tom Blyth's performance was great & he was visually perfect for a young Snow (the power of a good wig! Who knew lol). Even having the cool, analytical stare of Donald Sutherland, down pat. While his appearance was very Eminem during his peacekeeping days, his realisation in the cabin and subsequent breakdown in the woods were crazy. There was so much tension between him & Rachel in that scene that for a second, it literally felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I could almost hear the record scratch for both of them, & all that building paranoia finally coming to a sudden crescendo in the way that it did? Pure cinema!

Josh Rivera, as Sejanus, was honestly a mix for me. Obviously, I agree with his morals, but his way of going about it did seem a little dumb. However I do think it’s pretty realistic that a teenager, especially a rich one, would be rather naive. Also I’ve heard that he’s smarter in the book & I think at times my frustration with him is more just down to the fact that I’m seeing him from Snow’s point of view. Meaning scenes that would be portrayed as noble in any other film instead come across as almost painfully inconvenient because the focus is always on how they affect Snow rather than the actual victims of the situation. Lastly, sorry, Snowjanus shippers, I just don’t see it (especially on Snow’s end), but whatever floats your boat.

Rachel Zegler played Lucy Gray with the perfect mix of natural charm & emotional vulnerability with clear pride in her culture & a refusal to let the world around her change who she is. Yet there was also an air of mystery & a subtle resilience to her that makes her potentially surviving out in the woods for years without being detected actually believable (though I don’t buy the theory that she went on to become president Coin). Definitely the highlight of the movie for me.

PS. I'd love to know what you think of my review in the comments/tags & am open to criticism (as long as it's respectful) just remember that I'm only talking about the movie so please don't reference anything spersific to the book.

[luisaenjoyer]

Why I think Luisa is more on the masculine side if you’re interested in reading:

First of all, I’d like to say like you can interpret her however you’d like. I think you could argue for her being more femme (although not as easily imo).

1. Luisa’s whole arc is about her being emotionally neglected. Thought of as strong and therefore emotionally stable. This is such a common issue with masculine personalities, as we tend to assume they don’t need emotional support like their feminine counterparts. On top of having those muscles, her less-than-bubbly/effeminate demeanor leads many to assume she doesn’t have sensitivities, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

2. Luisa’s design… many call her girly because she wears a dress, which I find really shallow. She seems to express masculinity in her own special way that doesn’t need to involve clothes. And if you compare her dress to the others, it’s a lot less frilly and feminine anyways! She’s a very practical, simple dresser. She ties her hair back in a tight bun to get it out of the way, her dress is a bit shorter than the others so she can run and be active, and she even wears pants under her skirt. A lot of her concepts wore pants as well! Her outfit is so regal, yet humble and practical. Even the little embroidery on her shirt and dress are very angular and boxy. Watching the way she talks and walks, she’s very blunt, hands-on, and down-to-earth. It’s simply her demeanor that conveys so much, she acts with a masculine energy.

3. The biggest arguing point for her femininity is when her song slows down and she’s floating in the clouds with a donkey unicorn. This scene feels intentionally silly and playful, but it also shows a window into her mind. What about cute animals and pretty colors is inherently feminine? Why does softness and joy have to be strictly anti-masculine? She doesn’t style herself or express herself in this way, but she does seem to desire to be surrounded by it.

This leads me to why I really believe she is in love with softness and femininity. She adores and admires it. She wishes to surround herself with it and it makes her happy. That’s mainly what I got from the cloud scene, frankly.

4. One last point I’d like to mention is many people seem to think she is like a reverse Isabela, where she really dislikes her current role in helping others and being the rock of the family, while dreaming to be treated as helpless and coddled.

There’s absolutely nothing in the story that even alludes to that. In fact, she seems to love being strong, capable, and dependable. It’s when she’s being taken advantage of and has no time to rest is when she feels neglected and exhausted.

Luisa WANTS to be the hero. She wants to be the knight in shining armor for her family… she just wants to be treated like a human being too.

[mymultiverse00]

Mrs. Blum

My head is pounding. Over and over again, it’s drumming out a cadence in 4/4 time that I can feel behind my eyes, and in my ears, and all the way down to my stomach. I feel sick and hung over, but I have no idea Why I’m hungover. I don’t remember getting drunk last night. Actually, I don’t really remember anything from last night, but whatever I got up to has left me feeling sick as hell and I do not like it.

I pry my eyes open slowly and am momentarily blinded by a blazing hot sun shining in through a wall of very tall windows. Where the Hell am I? I wonder, taking a moment to try to focus on what’s going on outside, sitting up with a start when I finally start to recognize the landmarks. There’s an enormous fountain outside with dozens of people standing around it, and loud music playing in the distance. The Eiffel Tower stands across from that, looking very regal and pretty, but somehow not quite the right size. Eventually, my turtle slow brain clicks over. I’m in Las Vegas. Why the hell am I in Las Vegas? I really need some answers.

I look around the room a little and confirm that I am in a very large suite at the Bellagio Hotel, and judging by the overturned bottles and dirty glasses everywhere, I’ve been having a party. A tiny twinge between my thighs and complete lack of clothing tells me I’ve also been having sex, and likely quite a lot of it, but with who? That mystery is about to solve itself when the bathroom door suddenly flies open and a very naked and very aroused Roland Blum steps out.

“Roland! What the fuck are you doing here?” I shout, yanking sheets and blankets up over myself to hide my naked body.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/n!” He growls back. “Could you keep your screeching to a minimum this morning? I’m hungover as fuck and that’s not helping.”

“Sorry, you just surprised me is all, but what in the world is going on here? What are you doing in my hotel room and why the hell are we in Las Vegas?”

“Well, Mrs. Blum,” he began, swaggering over to join me on the bed. “First of all, it’s our hotel room. And second, it was your idea to come here in the first place, but I guess you chose to forget that.”

“My idea…? Wait. What did you just call me?”

“Mrs. Blum. Unless you want to keep your maiden name like some kind of bra burning feminist? We got married last night, kid.” He flashes his left hand at me, showing off a gold wedding band.

“What?!” I squeaked, scrambling to check my own ring finger and finding an enormous diamond resting there.

“Yeah. You came over to my place last night, crying about some shit that probably doesn’t matter and I offered to fuck you. You said the only way you would ever fuck me is if we got married so… there you go,” he concluded with his hands spread wide like some corny magician, giving me that self satisfied smile he always wears when he knows he’s won an argument.

“So you’re telling me, you drove us all the way to Vegas - to marry me - just so you could get some pussy?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re damn right I did.”

“Huh.” I sit back against the headboard, taking in this new information and trying like hell to recall any of those events. “Was it any good?”

Roland gives me an offended look. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that, doll.”

“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never had sex with you before, not sober or as a married woman. I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Well then, let me tell you, wife,” he says lasciviously, slowly pulling down the sheets to expose my bare breasts to his eyes. “Married pussy is the best pussy. You wrapped your long legs around my head so goddamn tight last night, I thought I was going to pass out a couple of times! Then you did this thing to my ass…,” he shivers at the memory. “You’re a real freak, Y/n, and I gotta say, I like it!”

“And you’re ok with being married? To me?” I ask timidly.

“Fuck yes, Y/n. I’ve wanted to get inside your snatch for years! I got my trophy now, and I’m keeping it.” He leans over and kisses me roughly on the mouth. His beard tickles, but in the best way.

“So what do we do now?” I ask.

“Well, if you’re hungry, I can feed you my dick. If you’re not, I’ll eat your ass until you pass out. After that, who the fuck cares?”

I giggle. I’m beginning to come around to the idea of being married to this foul mouthed lawyer, and I’m thinking it might be helpful if I could remember having sex with my new husband, so I give in.

“Tell you what, husband. I’m going to order some room service from downstairs and then I’m going to eat it while I sit on your face.”

He growls in response, sliding in closer to me so his massive cock rubs against the side of my thigh. He starts sucking a bruise onto the side of my neck and pulling at my nipples.

“After we eat, if you’ve been a good boy, I’ll let you rail me against those big glass windows over there, for all the tourists to see.” His head pops up and he smiles widely.

“Goddamn it, Y/n. I fucking love being married to you.”

“Good. Now, I’ll sort out my breakfast, why don’t you sort out yours?”

“Yes, Mrs. Blum.”

The End

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 4

Summary: In which you realize some things about your friend, Zagreus. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

WC: 1.5k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut

AN: What is a slow burn without the angst??

“Why go through all that effort? Surely you understand how dangerous it is,” You say, referring to his runs through the Underworld. As far as you know, there’s been several. Buried in the covers with a good book, you lay on your side and flip to the next page, though it's lost your attention since Zagreus arrived. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

At your lounge chair, Zagreus waves you off, eyes flicking from your figure to your sketchbook in his lap between exaggerated strokes, obnoxiously scritching the parchment. You roll your eyes. “I’m more than familiar with pain. As for why…”

Hearing the somber shift in his tone, you look up, willing him to meet your gaze. “Please don’t feel obligated to answer if it’s too personal.”

“No I… I trust you,” For a moment, Zagreus expression softens, like he can’t believe he’d befriend a demon to this point. You know you can’t, but you also know you could tell him anything and he’d listen.

Almost anything, that is.

The sketchbook shuts with a soft thud. Zagreus crosses the short distance to sit at the foot of your bed, by the curve of your hips. The bed dips under his weight before he takes a deep breath. “Long story short, I found out the mother that raised me isn’t my biological mother, and eventually I learned my biological mother escaped the Underworld and is somewhere on the surface.”

“So once you get to the surface, you intend to find her?”

“Exactly.”

“And what then?”

“Get answers,” He simply answers. Though his eyes steel with conviction, he slumps forward, resting his elbows on toned thighs.

Heat rises to your face, and you turn back to your book.

“You must think I’m a fool.”

“No.” Zagreus shoots you a flat look over his shoulder like he doesn't believe you, so you fully turn your attention to him. “Really! I don’t. I mean, shades aren’t allowed to leave the Underworld, natural order and all that.”

“…Shades. Right,” He says slowly, breaking eye contact for a split second.

“But I understand why you’d want to try. I just wish I could help you in some way, maybe smuggle you out on my next job.”

He perks up, gazing at you curiously, “You’ve been to the surface?”

“A few times for work. Though it has been a while since my last assignment…”

“What’d you have to do?”

Oh, you know: make contracts with humans and feed off them until they’re a husk of their former selves. You know, as succubus do. You settle on, “Demon things. You wouldn’t get it.”

Zagreus shrugs, unable to argue with that.

“… Suppose you do find your mother and get your answers,” You start, tone low and nervous. You swallow, trying to keep your nerves from wracking your vocal cords, keeping the tremble out of your voice. “What-what do you plan to do after?”

“That depends,” Wild, black hair falls over his eyes as his gaze drops to the floor. “If she hates me or not.”

You cock your head. Was that fear in his tone? For a moment, you allow yourself to study his broad back, scolding yourself when you admire the exposed ridges of muscle. Harsh, green light frames his profile, turning him into a slim silhouette among the soft shadows of your chamber. But now, as he sits at the edge of your bed, no longer he looks poised and regal as he usually does. No boons livening the air around him, no charming grin or cocky smirk. Posture be damned, he slouches, beautiful lips pressed thin, and he looks defeated—no, he looks…

Tired.

It never occurred to you how miserable your friend is here in the Underworld. He always seemed so lively by the time he reached your chamber, even when he’s scuffed and bloodied, like the heat of battle cheers him up. And yes, it’s Tartarus; souls are supposed to be despaired, miserable, tortured—for gods’ sake, it’s your jobs—but looking at Zagreus, exhausted yet still handsome as ever in his flaming laurels and refined chiton, feet seering footprints into your floor, he looks out of place in your humble abode.

Your heart clenches, suddenly self aware. Self conscious. Differences that hardly mattered before now at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I’m not finished, by the way.”

You meet his gaze, visibly perplexed though it’s painful. His heterochromia, the contrast of the blood red and forest green, is needlessly beautiful, as if the man isn’t magnificent enough already. Curse his family for whatever genes they poured into him.

The bed rises once more and as Zagreus leaves for the balcony, the gap between you—once miniscule and quickly closing—begins turning into a chasm.

“My drawing. It’s nowhere done.” Stopping before the balcony’s threshold, Zagreus gestures to the sketchbook. You sit up, blankets and furs pooling into your lap as you take it into your hands.

You, or a semblance of yourself at least, stares back. The strokes are short, thick, lines of charcoal jagged and uneven, though that’s to be expected. Zagreus snorted at you he buys art not create it, but that did nothing to deter him from trying. You lent him your sketchbook and pencils anyway, the thought of sharing your hobby with him filling you with giddiness you haven’t experienced in gods’ know how long.

As you study the amateur sketch of yourself, your heart swells so big, it terrifies you. There’s scuffed edges where the side of his palm pressed into the strokes, leaving partial prints. The proportions are atrocious, and if he’d been anyone else you’d tear into him. Yet, far from accurate as it may be, he manages to highlight your most discernible features. Just not the ones you expect. It’s not your chest or your hips or waist or even your legs, no.

It’s the fluid lash of your tail as you lay on your stomach, as if he tried to capture the cat-like movements on paper; the draping of your wings and the way you relax them against your back like a blanket; the graceful curve of your horns, the ends pointed not in a threat but a promise. And your face—

Smudges blot all over the background of your figure but most of all where your face is, the paper slightly damaged as if he erased one too many times trying to capture your visage.

Your heart skips. Blood and darkness.

As Zagreus’s back disappears behind the rumbling door to the next chamber, it’s for the best, you think, left to the familiarity of your quiet chamber. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Zagreus and you, a demon—a succubus? You’d never last.

As friends. As friends, of course.

This is for the best. 

It’s for the best.

…Is it possible to feel loss when there is nothing to begin with?

Eyes misting over, you snatch up your sketchbook and pencils, letting your tears stain the page with Zagreus’s eyes still fresh in your mind.

It’s for the best.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 5

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut (not for a few chapters still), Canon-Typical Violence

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4

Chapter 5 summary: The Batch arrives back on Ord Mantell, where Crosshair keeps an eye on Dara. We find out where Omega has been these last few chapters.

By the time they arrived on Ord Mantell, Dara had succeeded in sharing sips of the grassy beverage with every member of the squad but Crosshair, chatting openly, even charmingly, with each one of them. They were regaled with languid observations of her time on Endor and other planets she’d encountered in her years traveling, many of which they had never visited themselves—she had, understandably, avoided the war-torn planets they were most familiar with. Dara seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be a solitary nomad with no occupation, just brief stints of day labor wherever she could get it passing through. She met people; she worked in markets and ran errands for shopkeepers; she helped with harvests; she spent months alone on uninhabited moons, living out of her ship and watching the stars. Her blasters, she claimed, were for protection, not only from seedier elements in the cities she traversed, but bandits and creatures. She liked traveling alone, she said, but there were dangers, too.

When the hatch opened in their usual landing bay, Tech assessed Dara’s injuries with one final scan. “The symptoms associated with your concussion appear to have subsided. However, you will likely continue experiencing some pain elsewhere for several more hours.”

She rose slowly, still limping a little as she tested the feeling in her leg and hip. “I really can’t thank you all enough.”

Wrecker, the friendliest among them, seemed a little disappointed to see her go. “Hey, come find us if you need anything!”

She brightened a little. “Of course, big guy! Maybe I can buy you all a drink to show my appreciation. Hope I see you around.” With that, she turned and made her way out of the bay, disappearing into the crowded streets of Ord Mantell as they watched from the top of the ramp.

“She’s lying,” Crosshair insisted immediately.

He expected pushback from his brothers, so he was surprised when Hunter agreed. “Oh, yeah. She’s pretty good. Most of the time her heart didn’t even stutter a little. Maybe she was even telling the truth sometimes. But the shuttle…that’s not what happened. I don’t even think she was on Takodana.” Crosshair admitted to himself, begrudgingly, that he should have known his brother wouldn’t be so easily duped. Hunter’s enhanced senses gave him a unique insight into the subtle bodily tells that would have betrayed her efforts to bury the truth.

“Indeed. While the majority of the information that she provided regarding her travels was accurate, her timeline for her visits for at least the past year most certainly was not. For example, Boonta Eve is not celebrated on Tatooine during the period that she claimed to be living there,” Tech contributed.

Hunter nodded decisively. “Crosshair, keep an eye on her. There could be a lot of reasons she’s lying, but she knows we work out of Ord Mantell now, so we should at least try to find out if she’ll be a problem for us.”

Crosshair wasted no time before deftly scaling the sides of the landing bay to track her from the rooftops. He spotted her quickly, her silver hair bobbing among the crowd as she made her way down the street. There was a determination in her step despite the ongoing limp, her earlier attitude of carefree traveler gone as she navigated the city like an expert. She did not stop to inquire at the spaceport about shuttles that could take her to her next destination, instead marching block after block, occasionally doubling back deliberately while scanning the crowd, peering at the shop signs as if looking for something. Finally, she entered what appeared to be a curio shop, exiting twenty minutes later.

Leaping easily from rooftop to rooftop, the sniper tailed the mysterious woman all through the afternoon, watching as she paused at market stalls, chatted with vendors, and ducked into innocent-looking stores. Any purchases she made within view appeared to be innocent: resupplies for her camp kit and other necessities for a nomadic existence, all of which the Bad Batch was deeply familiar with from their years at war and their fugitive lives since. Once, Crosshair witnessed her deftly catch the wrist of a pickpocket as the youth brushed against her, giving him a stern look before he could get his sticky fingers on any of her credits, but otherwise letting him go unharmed and without protest. She occasionally turned down dead-end alleys, only to duck into a doorway and wait a few beats before returning the way she had come.

Whatever she was doing, she was cautious about not being followed. Of course, he was no ordinary observer.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Crosshair gave up his pursuit. He made his way to Cid’s parlor, scowling at the familiar neon sign on his way in, removing his helmet and sticking a toothpick in his mouth as he entered. The rest of the squad had delivered the goods to Cid and were huddled around a table, drinks in hand. They looked at him expectantly as he threw himself down in a seat.

“She’s experienced at evading a tail and didn’t even bother to ask at the spaceport about shuttles, but other than that nothing out of the ordinary,” Crosshair reported. “Mostly restocked on supplies all afternoon. Standard stuff, except for a trip to an antique store. I couldn’t see if she bought anything there.”

Cid, who was lurking about nearby with a sponge—cleaning what, Crosshair didn’t know, since the place was as filthy as always—narrowed her beady, reptilian eyes. “What kind of antique store?” she asked suspiciously.

Attentive and thorough as always, Crosshair had memorized the name of every shop she had entered. “Old Ord Salvage.”

“Huh.” The Trandoshan looked intrigued. “Where’d you say you picked up that girly?”

Echo’s eyes darkened a little, betraying his distaste for their employer. “Why? You know something?” he asked.

Cid’s face returned to its usual expression of contempt. “Jeez, you boys are lucky you have me to keep up with things for you. Old Ord Salvage is a front. There’s a back room where smugglers and other shady characters—such as yourselves—can use their sub-space communications set-up to send long-range transmissions without the Imperial authorities picking up on them.”

“Well. Dara did, in fact, hijack a shuttle, then flee from and kill several Imperial stormtroopers. It stands to reason that she would seek to remain off the Empire’s radar,” Tech considered pragmatically.

Crosshair shook his head, frowning. “She went straight there immediately after she left us. She already knew about where it was and how to access it. This isn’t the first time she’s had to avoid the Empire—she has experience. We should leave Ord Mantell—she can connect us to it, it’s compromised.”

“I don’t think so, skinny,” Cid interrupted. “You lot have work to do. The next few jobs I have lined up are time sensitive.”

Seeing Crosshair open his mouth to reply, Hunter stepped between the two of them decisively, avoiding whatever violent threat the sniper was about to make toward their employer. “She’s right. We’ll ask Rex to see if he can find out any info on Dara from his contacts. Just so we know if she’s someone we have to worry about or not. In the meantime, we’ll keep an eye out. I have to go contact Omega and let her know we’ll be a little while longer while we finish these next jobs for Cid.”

Wrecker seemed disappointed to hear they wouldn’t be heading back to Pabu soon. “Aww. The kid’s not gonna be happy,” he lamented. When they had left Omega, they had expected to complete one quick job before they returned. Now they would be apart from their sister for weeks—although she understood that the extra credits they were scrounging up would help fund Rex’s rebel clone network.

Hunter sighed. “I know. I miss her too. But it’s good for her to be around friends her own age, for a while, anyway. We’ll go back to pick her up soon.” The sergeant got up, making his way toward the parlor’s back rooms to make his calls. Crosshair stalked after him.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured unhappily.

Hunter was thoughtful. “I don’t much like it either. But whoever Dara is, it’s clear she’s no friend to the Empire. There can’t be too much to worry about.” He gave his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder before exiting, leaving the sniper chewing unhappily on his toothpick in the dingy bar.

Next chapter

[the-golden-comet]

✨5 lines tag✨

Thank you for the open tag, @paeliae-occasionally !

Rules: find a line from your story that matches the subject of the prompts

Time to find my lines from Peter Hart 💖✨

1. A sad line

The noble shook his head once more. Peter tried again, his tone greatly hurt now, yet soft and unthreatening: “ Benjamin…. ”

Through his gentle sobs, the prince spoke in a cracking voice. “I….I didn’t want my heart to break…..” His lips curled as he tried to bottle his sorrow, but the waves wouldn’t cease. Finally, the onslaught of passionate grief overflowed from his chest to his tear ducts, and down his freckled face.

“Benjamin…..” Peter whispered low and gently.

“…..J-just break my h-heart already…..!” Benji’s crying breath hitched.

2. A line about a fight

“Time to train you on fighting, Benji.”

“W-wait, what? NOW?!” The prince shook his head, immediately caught off guard. The exhaustion that swept over his body, albeit still there, was cast aside by the shock of the captain’s request.

“Aye, now .” Peter chuckled. “A threat doesn’t wait until it’s convenient for you, prince. I’m gonna show you some techniques.”

3. A line about plants

“Good, good. We should be all set, then.” Captain Hart led the way to the mouth of the jungle, calling behind his shoulder. “Men, make sure you have your weapons at the ready…..oh, except you , Benji.” He snickered. “Just try to keep up, aye prince?”

“….” Benjamin rolled his eyes after giving the captain a glare that could’ve bore holes into his back. Still, he held his tongue as the crew made its way through the dense and humid vegetation towards the heart of The Isle.

Slashing through vines, Peter called back to his crew mates. “Watch your feet for snakes.”

“….!!” Benjamin carefully treaded along, being mindful of his footing so he didn’t accidentally get bitten. As the twigs crunched under their boots, Sebastian walked alongside the cabin boy and nodded.

“Your first adventure, Benji. How does it feel?”

“U-uh, well….” Benjamin picked up his feet, chuckling weakly and cynically. “…..Besides being abducted by pirates, nearly losing my life, and scrubbing the deck until my knuckles chaffed and my muscles burned like fire, there’s nothing else I can complain about, really….”

“Ah.” Sebby nodded awkwardly. “Still a bit sore from that, huh? That’s understandable, at the very least.”

4. A line about love

“My word. This is quite a leak, Benjamin….” Peter brushed some more tears from the noble’s soft cheeks. “….how are we going to patch this up, now?”

“I-I can’t help that m-my heart is spilling out….!!” Benjamin retorted weakly, though the floodgates did not slow as the tears gently plinked off of Peter’s pectoral.

Peter gently scoffed in endearment. ”Goodness, you’re precious….” He fixed Benji’s disheveled locks, before finally pressing the prince’s head deeper into his chest. “….Listen:”

Benjamin closed his eyes and concentrated on the gentle tick inside of the captain’s torso. The heart throb reverberated in the ribcage, soothing the regal’s staggered breath. Swallowing down the rest of his tears, he closed his eyes and nodded.

“You know what it’s saying, don’t you?” Captain Hart whispered. “‘ Ben-ji, Ben-ji, Ben-ji’ . If you listen close enough, you can hear it.”

“…..” Benjamin chuckled gently. “I doubt a heart’s ability to say words, Peter….”

”Not like us, but the heart definitely speaks…”

5. A line about forgetting

“…” The blonde glanced between the prince and his first mate, a bit dumbfounded. “…..Oh, right. I forgot.”

Davey held his forehead in his palm in profound disappointment. “Ohhhh….you’re in for it, now.”

Benjamin’s eye twitched as an apoplectic smile cornered his smudged lips. “A-are you telling me….that this whole thing…..was for NOTHING?! ”

“Well, not nothing… .I hope….?” Peter glanced at Davey, hoping his first mate could back him up.

Leaving this tag +open! You’ll do the same lines

A sad line

A line about a fight

A line about plants

A line about love

A line about forgetting

[literallyjustanerd]

Chapter 4! It's exactly 5000 words! It's Codywan fluff and angst! It's got a clone OC cameo!

Cody divider by @freesia-writes with gorgeous helmet art by @lornaka

Summary: Brothers, reunited at last. As Cody and Rex fill in the blanks of their time spent separated, memories from before the end of the war float closer than ever to the surface. Memories of his general. And though he's overjoyed to be with Rex again, all is not well, in a way Cody can't quite understand. Will he be ready, when everything that has been hidden comes to light?

Words: 5000

Read it on AO3 or below! Hope you enjoy. Any and all comments are loved and appreciated and metaphorically printed out and pinned up with heart magnets on the little fridge in my mind :)

Obi-Wan moves like a ribbon through wind. Fluid and graceful, slick and sharp. Beautiful and devastating. The bright Kashyyyk sun turns his tunic translucent and sets his silhouette aflame as Cody watches and awes from below. It would be a death sentence to anyone else, yet Obi-Wan makes a dance of it. He’s an artist, each gleaming blue brushstroke leaving trails of elegant carnage in its wake. Around Cody the men cheer, an orchestra raising an accompaniment to their general's display. He loses grip on his saber when a droid knocks him forward, sends it plunging to the bottom of the canyon where his men had been cornered. Cody doesn’t fret, he has no need: it doesn’t slow his general in the slightest. Droidekas are airborne, then minced to scrap metal on the rock face with a regal wave of Obi-Wan’s hand. SBDs explode into blue and orange starbursts. They’re all but ignored by their destroyer, as though their purpose is merely to provide the gust of wind that artfully ruffles Obi-Wan’s auburn hair. He’s a poet. He’s a cyclone. He’s a force of nature. He’s Obi-Wan . 

The last droid falls, tumbling gracelessly from the cliff face above. Obi-Wan descends after it to the whoops and hollers of the 212th. With impossible lightness and an ethereal calm, he meets ground, mere feet away from Cody. Close enough that Cody can see how his pale cheeks have pinked with exertion. It’s the only hint that he has expended any effort at all, and somehow it only makes him look more radiant. His breath still eluding him, Cody steps forward and presents Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to him like it’s an offering at an altar. Fingers brush with a jolt of electricity, and he isn’t ready for the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes when their gazes meet: he’s looking into a mirror, seeing his own awe and adulation reflected back at him. Obi-Wan looks at him like he’s the rising sun, like he’s the one defying odds, gravity, and logic. The smile on his face as he takes the saber lights a fire in Cody’s chest, his next words fuel to the flame.

“Wherever would I be without you?”

“Your message… I couldn’t believe it. Thought I’d–” Rex chokes on the last word, his smile trembling, fighting to stay on his lips. He breathes a slow breath, and finally, the giddy haze around them begins to lift. “When I heard you’d gone AWOL, I thought it was just another Empire cover-up. I… I thought they’d killed you.” Cody reaches forward again to grip Rex’s forearm. Their foreheads collide with a comforting bloom of pain, a few more seconds lost to silence as Rex’s words sink in. Cody means to speak again, he does. But he can’t seem to find enough air in his lungs for any of the things he wants to say, nor does he think his ears could stand to hear the answers to his questions. Seldom has he ever felt so weak, and the feeling grits on him, sandpaper against his skin. He shudders to imagine what his men would think of him, had they ever seen him in such a state. A man reborn, stripped of his rank, his identity taken with it. For the first time in Cody’s life, he feels nothing like a Marshal Commander. As disquieting as it is, as untethered and formless as it makes him feel, it does little to dull his joy at the familiar face before him. He may not be Marshal Commander anymore, but for the present moment, at least, he thinks he can settle for being a brother.

Cody and Rex stay on the floor of the transport, gripping tight to each other for longer than Cody cares to count. They’re both breathless through tears and laughter, their embrace so vigorous it’s almost violent. Cody doesn’t care: Rex could break his ribs and Cody wouldn’t blame him one bit. It’s a small eternity before either of them can speak. When they do, it’s both of them at once, their words tripping over boyish giggles, jostling and shoving each other playfully, like children.

“Where’d you get this bucket of bolts?”

“–missed you so kriffing much–”

“You looked like a maniac back there!”

“–can’t believe it’s really you –”

“You actually found me, you really–”

Both of them join for the final refrain:

“You’re here. ”

Rex stands, reaches a hand out to help Cody off the floor, then leads him down the short hall to the cockpit, all the while speaking with another clone through the comm, arranging a rendezvous point somewhere in a system Cody isn’t familiar with. At Rex’s order, the ship’s other crewmates clear the cockpit. Thoughtful of him, Cody thinks, to give them both some time alone. Once he shakes this strange feeling from his bones he imagines he and Rex will be up half the night catching up. He takes the co-pilot’s seat as his brother sets the navicomputer, watching him work. Pale, shallow shadows roam across Rex’s face from the console lights, dipping into and deepening the lines on his brow and around his jaw, his mouth pulled to one side in focus. Once their course is laid, he releases a breath, and his shoulders lax somewhat into the worn seat behind him. Only then can Cody, too, let his aching limbs go. 

Eventually, Rex breaks the silence, laying his words out careful and slow in a way that pricks Cody's ears.

“Cody,” he says, low, “brother, I have to ask.” Cody’s back straightens. “Your inhibitor chip. Do you still have it?”

Memories lurch into his mind, sick and burrowing like Geonosian brain worms. Rex’s grief and panic after Fives’ death. The frantic searching for what it could all mean. Feeling it all the while deep in his bones, knowing there was something big, dark and snarling waiting for all of them just out of sight. The incoming transmission on Utapau that day, and the phantom words that had haunted him, hunted him in every quiet moment since.

Execute Order 66.

Good soldiers follow orders.

In the end, all he can do is nod. Rex stands abruptly, hand moving to the commlink on his vambrace. Beneath him, the storm-grey durasteel presses just slightly colder through his threadbare trousers.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Rex says, though Cody can’t be sure whether it’s directed at him or himself. His brother is a restless nexu pacing the length of the hold, turning sharply on his heel as he keys in a comm frequency. Each swift switchback coils Cody’s guts tighter, wringing a nauseating tension into his limbs. 

“I have a medical freighter on standby. We’ll get it removed.”

The questions begin.

It shouldn’t surprise him to learn just how vast the network is that Rex has built. He had read all The Empire’s reports on Rex’s activities, scoured them obsessively in fact, but in reality they barely scraped the surface of Rex’s operations. It seemed he had contacts everywhere, from covert agents lurking in the Coruscant underbelly to runaways-turned-pirates skirting the outer rims, Even on Nal Hutta, which, as it turned out, was the only reason Rex had been able to find Cody at all.

“Sent some men down to the bazaar where we traced your message. Had to bribe a saloon keeper to let us review their security holos, but we saw you leave with the scrapper crew,” he says. Cody nods along. Is it jealousy he feels at such a well-planned, coordinated team effort? “From there, we got in contact with a few clones in the scrapper guild, and managed to work out which crew it was and where you were headed.”

All those brothers. All living outside The Empire’s control. Just scraping by, yes, and by no means deluded enough to consider themselves safe, but out there nonetheless. Free, in a certain sense, certainly more so than they'd ever been under The Empire or The Republic. And all of them, even the ones not directly fighting, not only knew Rex, but respected his orders, trusted his advice, deferred to his command. A familiar pride swells in his chest when he hears Rex speak about it, the kind only a big brother can feel. 

It takes hours, or that’s how it feels to Cody: he hasn’t bothered to check the chrono. Rex tells him of their clone rebellion: Echo, Riyo Chuchi, all the missing or presumed dead clones that still have some fight left.

“It’s not easy going,” he admits, as though it bears saying aloud. “But we’ve managed to save a few. We’re getting stronger. Slowly.” Cody is struck dumb when Rex asks for inside information: the Kamino plot, the supposed pension plan, the rumoured clone decomissionings. The wounds of their recent past are even fresher than Cody thought, it seems: the salt of Rex’s questions stings more than he expects. He can’t bear not to be honest, though: he has no new information to share on the subjects, and in fact seems to know less than Rex himself. He had been kept even further in the dark than he’d known, moving hands passing him by in the dark corners his eyes had never adjusted to. A pawn in a game played just to kill time, to keep him busy while The Empire tightened their grip. Marshal Commander in name only, placated and too occupied with his own demons to question what was happening just out of view. The sharp breath punched from his lungs seems to fill the whole cockpit, the space around him shrinking to cage him in. The pains in his head have returned, to corral his thoughts away from where he tries to reach. Rex’s eyes are on him, he can feel it.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he breathes. Cody doesn't reply. 

When his throat has turned scratchy from talking past the threat of tears, the river finally runs dry, and the questions stop, at least for the moment. Their journey is still far from over, and Cody suspects there will soon be more to talk about, once they have wrapped their minds around all they have covered so far, but for now there is peace. In the interim, Rex works a datapad at his side, brow furrowed over whatever report he’s reading. It's almost rhythmic, the way he keeps sparing glances in Cody’s direction. Every few minutes, attention shifting from the console, his head tilts over his shoulder to look surreptitiously over at his brother. Checking that Cody is still there, like they used to do before a drill test as cadets. A flicker of comfort warms Cody’s chest, fighting off the frost from deep within. It's a much-needed solace to know that Rex has felt Cody's absence just as keenly as Cody has felt Rex’s. It soothes Cody's mind, still aching from the sheer volume of information he's taken in over he and Rex's last few hours together. It’s hard not to ruminate, more on the subjects they didn’t cover than the ones they did, the unspoken questions that seem to take up more space the longer they’re left unsaid, their weight pressing on Cody’s chest as minutes scrape by.

He presses his fingers into his ribs, hard. It doesn’t do enough to hold him together, tendons and sinew unspooling themselves at his nape, in his stomach, through his feet. He answers each of Rex’s questions as plainly as he knows how, despite the growing fear of what Rex will think burrowing deeper into his brain. Each sordid detail laid bare in the harsh, blinding sun of his own words. Every order he followed with unblinking obedience, every awful act overlooked with play-pretend loyalty.

“I wanted to leave. I wanted to stop, I didn’t want to do any of it.” 

He speaks of the bitter jealousy that spurned him every time another brother came up missing on the morning ledger, even as he personally recited the warrants for their capture. The jealousy, sometimes, even of the brothers whose obituaries he had read. 

“I just couldn’t stop it. Whenever I tried, I– I didn't know where else to–"

Just when he feels he will lose his words altogether, Rex’s hand alights on his shoulder, cool water on a raw burn.

“I understand, brother. I know ,” he says. “We all do.”

When they finally lurch out of hyperspace, it knocks the question clean out of Cody’s lungs.

“What about the Jedi?” he blurts, and Rex’s hands freeze on the console. Both, Cody imagines, from the question itself and from hearing his brother sound so uncharacteristically fragile. His sigh is an answer of its own, in a way. Rex’s thoughts seem to press down on him until they drive a deep crease in his brow. Without the haloed light of hyperspace, the shadows have sharpened into a harsher relief, leaving jagged shapes carved into his face. His expression is resigned: he had been waiting for Cody to ask.

“We’ve… heard of surviving Jedi,” he says carefully. “But they’re few and far between. Most are just rumours. We’ve got almost no reliable intel on anything solid.” 

“But there are some reliable reports?”

A long pause follows. Cody gets the sense that Rex is debating with himself, whether or not to answer. Who is he protecting?

“Commander Tano was with you on Mandalore,” Cody presses, “wasn’t she?”

Rex nods, shakily.

“I read the reports. The venator crash… they said it killed everyone. Before they knew you were alive, your name was on that list. How–”

As weak as the shuddering breath is from beside him, it’s enough to cut Cody off. He hangs in the silence that follows, suddenly scared to even move.

“It was all Ahsoka,” he utters. His eyes won’t meet Cody’s. “Without her…”

It’s slow. It’s agonising. It’s like being frozen in carbonite piece by agonising piece . But Rex tells him everything. Every gut-wrenching detail of escaping the crash. And all the brothers who didn’t.

“She’s out there,” Rex finally says, once the storm lets up. “She’s… not ready. Can’t join the fight, not yet. She needs time.” His voice catches, quavering on his last words, and it sends a sharp sting into the corners of Cody’s eyes, too.

“She’s just a kid.”

Seconds pass. Rex allows Cody time to try and voice the question it seems they both know comes next. It remains unsaid, but Rex answers nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, brother. We haven’t heard anything of General Kenobi.” Cody bobs his head in a nod. With searching eyes and analytical intent, Rex watches his reaction, measuring, gauging. Cody shrinks under the attention, unsure what Rex is looking to find and fearing every possible answer.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected it.” What he had hoped , on the other hand… 

“And General Skywalker?” Cody says, suddenly as desperate to be off the topic as he had been to address it. Rex’s mouth twitches, head shaking.

“I used to hope…” He sighs. “The reports all had holes in them. Thought it might mean he’d made it out.” He turns his gaze out the windshield. “But if he had survived, he wouldn’t be hiding. He’d still be fighting with us. I’m sure of it.”

Kashyyyk sings at night. An orchestra of warbling birds, howling pack animals and croaking insects. Even the wind through the forest behind lays a low, haunting melody over the velvet-soft undergrowth. It’s nothing like the stifling soundlessness of Kamino, or the driving, demanding mechanical rhythm of Coruscant. Cody leans forward, knee drawn up, to poke at the fire, embers curling triumphantly upward. Obi-Wan sits beside him, legs folded neatly into his usual meditation stance. On haphazardly scattered bedrolls, their men surround them, sleeping sound. Peace, rare and precious. Especially for Cody.

“Beautiful night.” Obi-Wan keeps his voice hushed, pitched low and gravelly. Cody turns to him. The flickering of the fire throws dappled light over Obi-Wan, glints of light and shadow showering him like golden flower petals.

“It is.”

A particularly mournful bird call sounds from somewhere behind them. 

“After the war I should like to return here,” Obi-Wan muses, “and explore it freely. There is so much history in this place. It's a shame to have to see it in such unrest."  His words are poignant, he knows, but Cody can’t take in anything beyond the first three.

“Do you think about that often?” he asks, skirting his gaze around Obi-Wan. “About… after?”

Obi-Wan shifts, sighs, leans back on his hands to tip his head to the stars. There’s a faraway look on his face, the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes growing like spring seedlings when he smiles. One of his tabards is slipping free from his shoulder, leaving a pale collarbone uncovered to the night. He does not adjust it. 

“I have already picked every old text and scroll I will study, when I finally have the time,” he says in answer. “Perhaps eventually, I will even take on another padawan. But first, I will travel. Until I find somewhere quiet and peaceful to rest.” He pauses a beat before half-heartedly adding, “Should the council allow it, of course.” Cody ponders the words, turns them over in his head like a puzzle, but still he can’t make them fit quite right in his head. The life Obi-Wan speaks of is beautiful. It’s all Cody would want for him. But he’s still trying to cut holes in his own reality to make those words fit when Obi-Wan speaks again.

“And yourself, Commander?” Struck dumb, Cody can only blink. Obi-Wan straightens beside him and tilts his head. “What do you want for yourself, once the war is over?”

And what can he do but be honest, when he turns to meet those dizzying blue eyes?

“I imagine you in a cosy little place,” Obi-Wan tells him, shifting his legs and turning to face Cody fully. His cloak and tunic sway with him, leaves in a gentle breeze. “Somewhere peaceful and green. Somewhere you can make entirely your own. Your whole life, you have given everything you have to your men. It’s one of your most admirable qualities,” and oh, Cody is not ready for what Obi-Wan’s smile does to his chest, how his words reach through his ribs and wring his heartstrings to breaking, “but I wish to see you take care of yourself, too. I want for you to build yourself a home. And I believe I know you well enough to know that somewhere within you, you wish for the same. ”

“I’ve never considered it,” he says, tacking an awkward “sir” to the end. “I’m a soldier. We all are. We don’t know any other way. Without this war… none of us have a purpose.”

With the look that Obi-Wan gives him, Cody may as well have shot his general in the heart. Obi-Wan's mouth falls ajar, but he stifles his instinctual reply and seems to ponder Cody’s answer deeply.

“One’s greater purpose is rarely just to be all that their creator intended,” he says finally, speaking the words like a prayer into the night. “You are more than this war, all of you. You have given so much for The Republic, but that is not your worth. You deserve more, you should want for more than this.”

Insides twisting and pulse stuttering in his fingertips, Cody tries to speak, to give the answer he knows Obi-Wan is waiting for. The fire lends him tendrils of gentle warmth, but its comfort, and Obi-Wan’s raw, solemn sincerity are formidable opponents. When it becomes clear that words are beyond him, Obi-Wan continues in his place. Ever eloquent, ever earnest, ever considerate. Cody’s brow pinches with a soft, tender, beautiful kind of pain.

What was it he had said next?

The stars blur when Cody looks up at them, blinking back the mist that gathers in his gaze. His pulse beats like battle drums as he takes a breath, steels his nerves, and meets Obi-Wan’s eye with the resolve of something more than a soldier.

“Do you imagine yourself there, too?”

The simple, sweet curve of Obi-Wan’s lip tears Cody into shreds, burns him to ash and pieces him back together in an instant. He sighs, soft and perfect, and leans in close. Around them, Kashyyyk’s gentle hymn reaches a soaring crescendo as Obi-Wan presses a lingering, reverent kiss to the scar below Cody’s eye.

Cody strains to finish the memory, until the now-familiar pain lances through the back of his skull. He flinches with it, lurching in his seat and drawing in a sharp breath, defences already worn down. A quick movement in the corner of his vision draws his attention, and when he looks toward it, his heart plummets through his feet. Rex’s eyes bore into Cody, wide, alert and searching. Rex tries to cover it up, to disguise it, but Cody had already seen: Rex’s hand had twitched toward his blaster. The curtain is pulled back, and the truth looms bright and terrifying behind it. 

Emptying the cockpit. Treating him so carefully. The reluctance to speak of the Jedi. The constant, furtive glances in his direction. They hadn’t been for Cody’s comfort.

Cody almost throws up on the spot.

Rex is scared of him.

He’s crushed by the weight of a dozen atmospheres as he realises fully just what his brother has been through, why he was so insistent on removing his chip as soon as possible. The rest of the journey, he can barely bring himself to breathe, determined to make himself as still and quiet as possible, desperate to keep from making things worse than they already were. He will get his chip removed, and everything will be okay. He won’t ever again have to see his brother look at him like an active landmine or a rancor set to charge.

They reach their rendezvous not a moment too soon.

Cody is brought on board, walking two steps behind Rex, nearly tripping on his feet. The waiting ship is as jerry-rigged and cobbled-together as its crew, and its medical bay is no different: all the supplies look stolen or salvaged, a far cry from the cold, pristine sterility Cody is used to seeing from medical bays. Needless to say, he’s apprehensive at the thought of surrendering his brain to the subpar equipment. But it’s easily overshadowed. For Rex. And for himself, as well. In truth, he’s been just as afraid of his mind as Rex for months now, and the thought of an end to the torment is enough to lure him through the seven Sith hells and back again. Rex explains the procedure as he half-listens, and as he’s positioning himself on the table, the doors hiss open and a medic enters. Much to Cody’s surprise, the clone’s scars and tattoos are familiar.

“...Lieutenant Finch?”

The clone above him meets his eye, then lifts his fingers to a lazy salute, grazing the winding serpent tattoo coiled at his hairline.

“Commander,” he says blithely. There’s a dry smile in his voice that just barely reaches his lips.

“You two know each other?” Rex’s voice rises, confused, from behind.

“I was decanted to the 212th,” Finch explains over his shoulder, foregoing eye contact and instead booting up and programming the surgical droid. “You know, before–”

“Before you deserted,” Cody finishes. Finch snaps his fingers into a point in Cody’s direction, giving a single, curt nod.

Breathe. In. 

Tension ekes into the room, like static electricity before a storm. Cody can feel Rex’s eyes on him. He can imagine how his brother’s mind turns, mapping out every direction this could go. Possibilities like trails of water carving a fractured, splintering path through dust. It was years ago, early in his career, but Cody can remember clear as day how he had felt when he’d received the report of the lieutenant’s desertion. All that hurt and righteous anger. The confusion as strong as the scorn at how one of his own could leave their ranks. He had felt so personally betrayed, as though the desertion was a black mark over his own head. In a way, he supposes, it was: never before had he been forced to confront the possibility that he and his brothers might disagree with their programming, were capable of taking their fate into their own hands. He’d blamed Finch for the fury that followed in himself. In retrospect, he’s not so sure that that is who, or what , he was really angry at. Cody lays his head back flat on the table. A sharp breath leaves him in what could almost be mistaken for a laugh.

“Guess you were smarter than all of us in the end, huh?” is all he says. 

There is no response from any of them, each listening in their own silent reverie as water trickles past them down an unfamiliar path.

A few minutes later, Finch has finished setting up for the procedure. Rex grips Cody’s arm tight before he goes under, tells him it’s going to be alright. As darkness seeps in from the edges of his vision and Rex’s voice grows distant and muddled, Cody tries to believe him.

Breathe. Out. 

Black. Thick, coddling, a woollen blanket muffling all his senses. Space, empty. Cavernous. The implication of an echo. No sound. Toes edge toward a precipice. Nothing, nothing, nothing, all the way down. A perfect nothing. A mollifying nothing. A final nothing. Toes over. Falling. Peace, relief, absolution. Mercy. Silence, finally, gods almighty, silence. Light on the horizon. It’s over. Rest. It’s done. Limbs move fluid, unchained. Unbound for the first time, feather-light and rejoicing. More light, bigger, brighter. Then colour. Shape. Then sound. Voice. 

Cody’s eyes open in small, seeking movements, attuned to absence. To beautiful, exultant, glorious absence. For the first time since Order 66, perhaps for the first time since the moment he’d been lifted from his incubation tube, Cody’s mind is utterly and completely clear, empty. Quiet. He wallows in it, drinking in the fleeting euphoria. A split second later, he hears it. Words unburied, memory unshrouded.

“Cody, my love… I can’t imagine myself anywhere else.”

To break that vow.

It’s only the first drop of the storm that follows, a single blade of grass in an endless, sprawling meadow. A million more memories follow in its wake: a private moment stolen together while working late, a surreptitious glance shared across the war room. A warm hand in his, holding tight but always gentle. His fingers smoothing through autumn-coloured hair. Tender words and hushed laughter. A single beam of light through a window, a single perfect morning. Waking slow, tangled in sun-warmed sheets, with the whole galaxy held sound in his arms. A whispered promise, a vow sealed with his lips against the gentle, curving valley between neck and shoulder.

His arm, heavy as stone, raising a blaster. To follow orders.

Great, flowered vines grow from the cracks in Cody’s psyche, probing, pushing at his mind. Too big, many for how small he has become.

His skull splits open. A sob tears itself from his throat, rattling his chest.

With graceless limbs he pitches himself upward, only to be held down by firm hands. He tries to cry out, but all that comes is the barest whimper.

“I fired at him. I tried to– Rex, brother, I– Maker, I ordered it all .”

He feels the embrace moments before his flagging senses catch up, vision plunged into darkness when he buries his face in Rex’s shoulder.

“Breathe, vod.” He obeys without thought or question. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

The sight of Rex still there, still by his side, barely disguising his concern, sets a fresh, raging flood over his mind, dragging more memories like driftwood to the surface. Every traitorous thought he’d ever had before the end of the war. Every restrained conversation he’d had with his brothers, with Rex especially, over what would become of them after the war. Every time they questioned The Republic, the Chancellor, the Jedi Council. Endless, circular debates always coming to the same dead end. Wanting to escape. Not wanting to abandon their men. The chilling, horrible dread in his bones touching down on Utapau, the foreboding feeling that it was already too late.

It’s a long while before Cody regains enough sense to sit and speak. Rex does not leave his side for a moment. He’s given a ration bar and a mug of caf. It’s bitter and burned. He drinks it to the last drop. Finally, mercifully, the silence begins to feel less like oppression and more like peace, as the pounding pressure in his head abates. His mouth quirks in a dry smirk when he finally raises his voice.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who took it that badly.”

Rex’s laugh is a balm to every wound he’s ever suffered, deep, full-chested and free. Leaning forward, he slaps Cody’s back, his shoulders hanging loose, at ease.

“You took it like a champ,” he chuckles. Cody wants to sing, to jump and cry for joy like a child. He has his brother back. But still, lurking behind his relief, the rest of his revelations threaten to drag him back under.

“Come on.” Rex stands and holds a hand out to him, his smile softer now but still stubbornly bright. As though he can read Cody’s mind, he says, “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about. We’ll get to it, I promise. But you need to rest.”

The doors glide open, and Cody doesn’t hesitate before stepping back into the world as himself once more.

“We’ve got our next heading. I’ll fill you in later,” Rex says, walking in step at his side. “For now, I think some of the boys have a game of sabacc going. It'll be a good way to introduce you.” 

He cracks a wide, teasing grin in Cody’s direction.

“You still a filthy cheat?”

[cateyesinlove]

~Marigold flowers Bloom in Late Autumn~

AO3

“Clever as the devil and twice as pretty.”

Chapter 4; “The Garden of Autumn”

Observing the ceiling of the castle Elain realized that it would never stop mesmerizing her. The different hues of orange and yellow made the stained glass, the light that would shine through was so beautiful. She had of course seen it before some time ago but now she had the opportunity to not only see it but admire it. 

As the group made their way from the entrance to the war room, she could hear the high lord and her sister discussing the trip. She paid close attention to the art on the walls noticing that Eris had replaced many of the pieces Beron had. 

She abruptly stopped walking as she suddenly felt enthralled by a specific piece, A beautiful night sky with stars scattered through it, under it was the scenery of the Autumn Court with many different types of trees. Under one of them, she could spot two silhouettes, the shadows of two people, a female and a male. She could make the edges of her long gown and her hair, her arm stretched out towards the mal. 

“Elain,” Emerie called her name as she gently touched her elbow,  “ Are you okay” she whispered. 

Elain woke from her focus and turned to Emerie a bit confused, “What?” she asked Emerie with a frown.

Emerie turned back to look at the group who were starting to leave them behind, she turned back to Elain with concern all over her face, “You suddenly stopped walking and I thought you were looking at some art but when I called for you,” she bits her lower lip gently, “ you were looking at the bare wall.” she points at the space of the wall.

“No I,” she laughs nervously and shakes her head, “No, no I was looking at a painting” she reassures Emerie. 

“Elain,” Nesta calls her name a bit farther away from them. 

They both remain silent and join the group again.

“ How does it feel being here without having to sneak around, Seer?” Eris asked out loud without stopping from the front where he led the group. 

Elain’s face went red but she composed herself as quickly as she could. She did not answer Eris taunts and continued to admire the artwork walking next to Emerie.

Nesta turned to look at her shaking her head and continued to walk Next to Cassian. The High Lady and Lord walked alongside Eris with Amren behind them, a well-oiled machine. 

The leaders of the Night Court

Their second-in-command 

Their Generals 

And finally, their reinforces, the best Valkyries and the Seer 

“Regal and lethal in every way,” Eris thought amused sneaking a glance at his guest as he turned to face the High Lord and Lady when they reached the War room. A huge set of doors, decorated with different patterns in gold.

“Eris,” Rhysand called his name, “Should I worry about the amount of guards?”  he joked looking around and sliding an arm around his wife’s waist.

“It’s more of a precaution,” Eris explained, “With Beron out there I have too much at risk to not be careful enough” 

“I apologize for my son’s paranoia High Lord,” A voice made all the heads turn, walking towards them was the former Lady of Autumn. 

Elain froze.

 The impact of seeing the once bruised and beaten Lady in her son’s arms was too much.  How long had it taken her to recover from her injuries? She thought, Hundreds of pictures flashed through her mind, the lady being punished and tormented by Beron and his men. Her eyes scanned her body for bruises but her pale skin was smooth and perfect. Elain quite frankly had thought she might have been dead, she had hoped she was wrong but the former Autumn Lady’s state had left little doubt that Beron was aiming for a slow and painful death for her.

Catching Elain’s gawking at her body,  the Lady of Autumn approached her and gently held her hand out, “This must be the one and only seer, my son’s mate.” she examined Elain, “ Adira, former lady of autumn,” a polite smile bloom on her face as she introduced herself. 

Everyone tensed at the mention of Lucien, Cassian thought that Nesta was ready to throw Adira to the ground. Elain herself was irritated as it often went when people mentioned Lucien. Because everyone always only talked of her as his mate, the mate of the fire lord, the mate of the heir to Day, and on and on the titles came with being someone’s property. 

“Elain Acheron,” Elain answered with the best fake smile she could taking her hand. “Seer of the Night Court.” 

As Elain held Adira’s hand her vision blurred, one minute she could feel the hand on hers, and the next she felt like she was suspended in the air, she could hear her name being yelled but muffled by loud bangings of metal and screams. 

Adiras screams. Painful shrieks and sobs. 

( AGAIN TW; Violence, implications of torture and Emotional abuse)

“ You MONSTER!” Adira shrieked in pain as the whip hit her stomach, she tussled her feet and arms trying to fold into a fetal position but the restraints on both ends made it impossible, the guard designated to hit her looked up at a bored Beron sitting on an identical stone like the one Adira was being held on; Beron shook his head and the guard took a few steps back.  

“Tell me something I don’t know” Beron scuffed with a bored tone rolling his eyes as his wife recoiled in pain, her feet tied at the end of the stone table, her hands chained at the sides of it, stretching her arms, an extra ounce of pain added. 

Another scream erupted from Adira as Beron crushed her hand with his boot. 

“What I do want to know is where ” he explained calmly before increasing the pressure on her hand, “is the DAM LETTER YOUR BASTARD SON GAVE YOU!” He yelled as he took in his hand the crying face of his wife. 

Elain felt like she was pushed off a building, landing brutally on the floor. 

She gasped for air and reached for.. anyone. 

“ ELAIN!” Feyre yelled grabbing her arm as she placed her other hand on her older sister’s back and helped her regain balance. “What happened?” she questioned concerned, her eyes scanning Elain’s face. “Someone fetch Nesta,” she said raising her voice but her eyes never leaving Elain.

Some guards moved away from the feet of her bed and walked out. 

Elain perked up, realizing she was no longer on the floor in front of the war room but in a rather luxurious bed, she scanned the room realizing she was in a well-decorated and furnished suit. There were extravagant couches, and the golden patterns in the ceilings reminded her of Eris hounds, a hound surrounded by smoke. She looked down and a sigh of relief escaped her when she saw she was wearing the same dress. 

“Elain” Feyre said again concerned and fear filling her eyes. ‘What happened?”

“ I don’t know,” she whispered bringing her knees to her chest. 

“You had a vision,” Feyre said caressing her sister’s arm.

“I-” she stopped taking a big breath, the feeling of dizziness plaguing her just thinking about her vision. 

“ What did you see?” Feyre asked. 

She exhaled trying to keep the nausea in line. Shaking her head tears filled her eyes, “Something horrible Feyre,” she whispered. The 

An abrupt slamming of doors startled both sisters, entering through the doors was Nesta running, a smile on her face. 

“You’re awake, “ she said hugging her tightly, both arms around her.  

Elain immediately hugged her aback. The feeling of being in Nesta’s arms immediately calmed her, she was okay. She was with her sisters, she was in no cell, and she was okay.

Both of her sisters sat on the bed waiting for Elain to explain her vision and her fainting. 

“It was Adira,” she said looking around the room as if there was anyone else in the room with them, “I had a vision last night about Eris and Adira,” she explained but before her sisters could interrupt her, “ It was of the day Eris took down Beron. He had taken Adira captive and Eris was looking for her.” she stopped herself as the vision of a bruised and bloody Adira laid on her son’s arms. “ He went to the extreme of taking down his father that same day.”

“And?” Nesta prompted.

“He found her bruised and beaten.” She answered looking at her sisters. 

Both sisters gasped ignoring that a few hours ago they had been with the Lady of Autumn. 

“ What- ” Elain started with a curious tone, “Happened after I passed out?” 

Feyre wrapped her arms around herself, “ Adira caught you and of course, we all panicked,” she said, “ Nesta and I are were next to you in an instant,” She finished. 

“Eris offered this room for you while we talked to him,” Nesta scowled grew, “ He even offered to bring you in.” 

Elain arched an eyebrow, “What?”

“Oh yes,” Feyre said chuckling, “Rhysand and Cassian scared him, I am sure.” 

Elains blushed and chuckled she loved her brothers but the overprotection had gotten old. 

Nesta laughed softly relaxing a bit.

Feyre placed a hand on top of Elain's that was on her lap. “ I think that also a certain Spymaster told them to be careful around Eris.” Feyre said delicately, “ They are boys Elain, they probably think this means Azriel and you might be together again.” 

Nesta shrugged her shoulders sighing. 

Elain looked down at her lap, “I have no idea,” she whispered. 

Feyre raised Elain’s chin with her fingers, her eyes meeting those beautiful brown eyes of her sister. “And thats okay as long as long as you are happy.” 

“ He is not the only male in the world Elain,” Nesta said smiling placing her hand along her sisters.

Elain laughed and launched herself hugging her sisters. This is all she really needed. Them 

There was nothing in the world that could ever be as priceless as having her sisters.  

                                          ________________________

Hours later as the stars made their way out, Elain found herself walking along the castle hallways looking for the Garden. Her memories revolved around a small kiosk surrounded by flowers her eyes had caught last time, her mind had wandered back to it after her sisters had left, she needed to find it. It was calling to her and she intended to answer it. 

After a couple of minutes she finally reached the structure, there in all the glory stood the small kiosk surrounded by vines and flowers, covered from head to toe. It was a rather plain and simple structure, it wasn't big either, she thought it clashed with how huge the castle look. Part of her thought the small structure reflected her, a flower among the grandness of the Night Court. A flower among the splendor of a court, how her house compared to her sister was also a small structure with vines and flowers in contrast to the magnitude of the House of Wind and the River state. 

“Fancy seeing you here Seer,” a voice spoke from behind her.

It took everything in her to not roll her eyes. It matters not that Lucien and her never intended to complete the bond nor that she tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, enough people had warned her of Eris and she intended to listen to them.  

“Eris,” she said turning around and placing the fakest smile she could muster. 

“Why the scowl,” he asked approaching her, a wicked smirk plastered on his face, “Not happy to see the host?” he mocked her 

She turned around for a minute to climb inside the kiosk, turning to look at him once more. “ Of course not, I am thrilled to meet you,” she said

Eris stopped in front of the steps of the kiosk. Both hands were in his pockets as he observed her, “ You are more interesting than my dear brother gave you credit.”

Elain frowned. “Lucien talked about me?” she asked, she stayed silent for a moment and then asked again. “To you?” 

Eris chuckled and whistled a bit quietly, “ Wow he was right that you don't hold back,” he said. 

Elain observed him for a moment. “Can I help you with something? Or were you also just casually strolling through the garden?"

Eris's neutral expression was more concerning than his usual smirk, Elain realized. Not only did he look the part of High Lord but it stirred emotions on her, emotions she was not allowed to question nor unpack. She held her chin higher waiting for an answer. 

Eris walked from the outside of the kiosk until he was in front of Elain the only thing separating them was one of the half walls of the structure. “Be careful Elain,” he warned all amusement gone from his tone. “My father was is a bastard and deserves death but I am loyal to my court and the minute I see it being threatened I won't hesitate,” he threaten leaving Elain confused. 

“What are you talking about,” she quickly asked for an explanation. 

“I know Azriel stole more than what he came from last time,” he said eyes pinned on her own. “I invited you not only because of your power but because I need your help,” he said calmly. 

“Azriel stole nothing,” she growled furious, hands clutching at the top of the kiosk's small walls.

“Azriel stole something from Beron and gave it to Helion.” He said. “I want to know what it was and I have the suspicion that you may know what it is,” he accused.

“You are mad,” she whispered enraged. 

“Maybe,” he chuckled finally a smirk appearing on his face, “but I’m also right,”

Her eyes quickly scanned his face looking for something that could allied to him lying. 

“How do you know this anyways,” she crossed her arms feeling defenseless after being ambushed with the information, she was the spy, she was the seer, the one who knew everything, she was no longer the week fawn. “I am not admitting anything but Azriel is the best at what he does, even I didn't see him stealing how could you possibly know.” 

“Accept to help me and I will reveal all of the information I have.” He said stretching his hand.

“Why not go to Rhysand?” she asked suspicious of his motives. 

“Why involve more courts than already are.” he shrugged his hand still extended. 

“What do I get for this bargain,” she asked stepping closer, the kiosk wall still separating them, she had realized that the kiosk gave her the higher ground, she was taller than Eris from here, his head raising slightly to see her directly at the eyes. 

“Me” he answer simply. 

She looked at her hand and hesitated. “A bargain with the king of cruelty himself,” she thought but if he had asked for her for this reason, the visions might have been a push from the mother to accept this. A sign from her to help Eris. She inhaled and extended her arm. 

As her hand grabbed Eris she could feel the magic, The tattoo being formed from her knee to her hip. 

A deal with the villain of most of the stories she has heard since she turned fae. The thought made her recoil from his touch, the chilling sensation navigating her body and making the hairs rise. All her instincts screamed that she had begun a sinister game that she could never escape. 

“Let's talk,” he said as he walked to the entrance of the kiosk offering her his arms and a smirk that felt like a deadly weapon. 

[roe-and-memory]

How did the King use the Dodge Charger Daytona in the first movie(during what I think is 2006) in your headcannon? By then they woulda switched to I think it was either the car of tomorrow or something else I can't remember the name of. Even by the early 2000's it still would have been massively slow compared to the buicks, fords, etc that were on the scene. How would he have kept pace?

he didnt! (and it was a plymouth superbird, reference to richard petty - aka his VA)

at the point of the 2006 season they were still using the gen 4 car (COT debuted in 2007) so i believe strip probably was driving a dodge charger, due to plymouth and dodge becoming the same company.

i think in a real life scenario the piston cup wouldn’t allow it, so realistically it was probably just a clever way to make a recognizable character and show his age — as chick hicks also represents a 1985 buick regal (or something around that era) and he wouldnt be allowed to race that either

[late-to-the-fandom]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

thank you for this tag from I'm not even sure how long ago, @oh-no-another-idea! I’m so bad at these without themes to tie them together so I let it sit while I thought of something. And in honour of yet another little bout of writer's block in yet another stupid little scene change that should not be taking me so long, I went back and grabbed the sections of the last 7 chapters of Wend in the Shadows that tripped me up the longest, to remind myself I've always got through them before.

Tagging: @m-r-levine @mysticstarlightduck @veresiine @pagesofcursive @1legitconnor @scourge-lover @halfbit

Chapter 1: The Master Awaits

With a groan, Renathal threw back the coverlet and swung his silk-clad legs over the side, then paused, his body reluctant to abandon the relative safety of the bed. In spite of everything his primary senses were telling him, an ominous warning still lurked underneath. There was something indefinably wrong about how he had woken up today. But, after another critical survey of the room failed to locate anything untoward, and beginning to feel ridiculous, he shook his head, winced at the pain, and forced his feet to meet the Tazavesh rug.

Chapter 2: The Lay of the Land

Even after the Sire had walked sedately away down the terrace, Renathal following - like Denathrius, eschewing any anima magic - he ignored the urge to call out the question worrying a hole in his mind. There would be some obvious answer, and his Master would be disappointed, possibly provoked into anger, Renathal had not spotted it himself. But as he made his slow way through the castle's many long hallways and winding staircases one step at a time, Renathal simply could not fathom how, if passage between the realms was truly impossible for all beings, Elisewin was supposed to have arrived.

Chapter 3: The Endmire

The theological paradox twisted his mind as the carriage rattled its way across Penance Bridge, his anxious eyes wandering over the approaching silhouettes of the Grand Palisade: tall, stately spires on black brick foundations that sank into a sheer, nearly vertical drop. Just below the bridge, the cliffside was wreathed in mist, the thin, stretched wisps painting the smooth grey stone in shades of unbroken blue. Except - Renathal sat up sharply - for a splash of outborn purple.

Chapter 4: Anima Awakening

The gaze that met his was already beginning to slip back into its signature lavender insouciance, but there remained a trace of wariness, a flush to her cheeks not wholly exertion. A twinge of guilt at his unexplained coldness during their climb plucked at Renathal's insides. She had not asked him to escort her on her assigned quest - he had insisted; and yet she had sacrificed her hard-earned anima for him without comment or complaint. Propping himself against the remains of the stone archway in lieu of undignified collapse, he waved both her deferences aside. “It was nothing. Pray, do not mention it. To anyone, at any point, in fact." Elisewin giggled breathlessly, as Renathal had hoped she might, and he enjoyed a few seconds of pleasantly vibrating anima before he remembered, with a punch to his gut, his resolution of only minutes before. A proper degree of distance was emotional as well as physical. He straightened, holding himself in a more regal stance, somewhat marred by the dirt raining from his coat as he rose to full height. 

Chapter 5: The Proper Punishment

Thus, he eschewed any of the castle's convenient - and secretive - side doors, instructing his dredger driver to deposit them at Nathria's more public main gate. There, he leapt from the carriage and, in full view of perambulating courtiers and patrolling Stoneborn, offered a startled Elisewin his hand and helped her solicitously down. He switched his grip to her elbow, gentle but firm, as he led her across the courtyard, under Nathria’s high archway, through the castle's empty vestibule, and up the stairs to the Grand Walk beyond. The Harvester of Dominion returning the Master's wayward mortal. It was a bold, brave approach, calculated to prove neither of them had anything to hide, and Renathal was confident in its prospects. Assuming Elisewin followed suit - left the talking to him and refrained from doing anything suspicious.

Chapter 6: Home Improvement

No matter how reciprocated his desire might or might not be, it was just that - desire; a sin he must master. And Renathal lowered himself punitively into the claw-footed tub, letting the scalding water sear the tingling need from his skin. Innocent touches, playful banter, the occasional meaningful conversation - these indulgences he was allowed, like small sips off a powerful, intoxicating liquor, as long as he went no further. The heat tempered his resolve, and Renathal breathed in the steadying steam, steeling himself for the scrub brush wielded by an impersonal dredger. But as he submitted to the rough, cleansing bristles, Renathal's rebellious mind remembered other resolutions, built and subsequently broken, and wondered what it would take for this last, immovable line to be crossed, too.

Chapter 7: Formal Refreshments

The skin on the back of Renathal’s armoured neck prickled as he watched the Countess stand in a swish of narrow hips and dark skirts to greet his mortal charge. Hunger gleamed in her black, beady eyes, and a snap of her fingers had some socialite whisking Elisewin's tray from her hands, leaving her open and unprotected from the Countess' salacious inspection. She looked the mortal up and down with undisguised greed, ran a wanton hand across the fine material of her skirts, her sleeves, her corset; reached up - Elisewin was several inches taller than most Venthyr - to adjust the red jewel sparkling in the hollow of her throat. Catching sight of the Prince’s approach, the Countess smiled - wet and predatory - and locked a proprietary arm around Elisewin’s waist to prevent her escape.

[creation-help]

the first two are clementine pre n post wither storm n the third is an oc ive just been calling [DATA EXPUNGED]

theyre both pokemon ocs, w clem specifically being a mash up of being a minecraft storymode oc and a pokemon oc

[DATA EXPUNGED] is the Champion of Arceus n is v ? theatrical ? fancy ? either way he speaks like its the early 1800s, i also dont have much of a backstory for him since i created him like, 4 days ago n im VERY slow at giving ocs backstories

clementine on the other hand ive been making a backstory for several months so i have a lot to say but i wont so to sum up her backstory (in a way thats prolly shit ngl) its:

clem n her (still unnamed n undeveloped) friends go to a con, they win, they go to a post con festival, clem meets some guy, the same guy clem meets makes the wither storm, she defeats it but is v traumatized from it, she becomes a mayor of a town at some point but she ends up running away from kalos to kanto

[Is not familiar with the Pokémon storylines you're talking about and thus has nothing to comment on it, so apologies if that is relevant to the review]

I'm assuming [DATA EXPUNGED] isn't, at least in the current state of things, related to Clementines story at all?

I'll tackle [DATA EXPUNGED] first!

Very solid color scheme, I think the dark skin tone fits perfectly with black white and gold, especially since the shirt (top?) is white. The accessories and face patterns really give off a fancy, perhaps priest like aesthetic and it makes the whole collective come across as very distinguished. Supernatural too, considering the one white eye and again, face patterns, although it leaves some ambiguity since this could also just be a very fancy cultural getup. I have to say though, I'd probably have made the roses some other color: though the black is strong and very cool, you can't really see them from the black hair and thus it sorta muddies the effect and makes it look more like the character is wearing some headgarment rather than a rose crown. Unfortunately, since this is a picrew, i can't say much for more core aspects of the design like the shape of the face, eyes and nose, which I consider very essential aspects of designing human characters. This is no fault of yours, as I said, picrews can be limiting in this aspect.

Judging by the art style though I'm going to guess this character is meant to have a strong angular face and jawline with a straight, square nose. Strong but elegant brows, I assume? The beauty mark on his jaw though is a very nice touch! Gives some uniqueness and personality to the otherwise very conformed, untouched image the character has.

The character strikes me as a very learned, wise personality who knows things beyond this world, and I can definitely see that he'd speak more theatrically, like a preacher or professor (the book and quill help this).

If the character ever ends up drawn by free hand, here's things I'd suggest adjusting or adding to [DATA EXPUNGED]: Facial traits. I think a strong nose with a bit of a greek shape would do wonders for a theatrical, regal looking character like him, and if the angular jawline is intended, keep that!! Depending on age (or how dramatic you want him to look), I'd also suggest more visible cheekbones perhaps? Strong brows and serious eyes would contribute to this vibe but depending on of course where you take this character, you can change things to suit that! For what I'm suggesting here, the character feels like a sort of apocalypse preacher person who is more interested in studies and has a tendency to push people away. However you could also easily go a softer route with him as well but I think, if you do, I'd still keep the angular dramatic facial features. The rest of my suggestions would just be to add maybe the smallest bit more decoration or jewelry, maybe something with a more personal touch? Earrings, rings, ect. I feel like he'd be the type to carry around some very sentimental piece of jewelry or other item, something he holds in great value. He doesn't seem like he'd pretty up just for appearance sake. Also I feel like sideburns or some stray hair whispies would add a fun little touch that could divert from the more serious groomed image the character gives, just something to create uniqueness in general. Doesn't have to be those exact things I suggested.

Then Clementine!

Design is simple but functional. Personally I think she could also use a bit more to make her less generic ykno? To be fair this could also be a fault of whatever you used to make these images (not sure if that's a picrew or some other dollmaker thing). I like the amount of change you have between the before and after states, especially liking the touch of her expression changing, even though its not related to design here lol. The first one with the simple, a bit girlish and old timey dress works well with the half up hairstyle and simplistic outfit to establish a younger character who's out to see the world. The two things diverting from this image are the sword and maybe(?) her being barefoot. The sword evokes imagery of either someone who seems more innocent or naive but turns out to also have sharp, honed skills. OR a strapping enthusiast who is looking for adventure and her place in the world, with only the clothes on her back and this sword she found (lighthearted tone). The barefoot aspect also gives a bit of a rural vibe, of being more in touch with nature. Which is something the After™ version contrasts, with a more modern feeling outfit, and the loss of the sword.

I really like her having a longer hairstyle in the latter one, with the braids/dreads. Hairstyle changes are a great way to communicate something in a character so it fits! It feels more subdued mature while still keeping a bit of that openness and freedom, with the dreads hanging freely, and hey, still being in a half up style! Good one!

I'd suggest maybe adding more signs of experience or wear on the latter version, just to communicate her having gone through something major, even traumatic. Scars or something like more visible eyebags, or something to show a more scuffed up appearance ykno? You could also make her more stocky and built, or maybe a bit chubbier in the latter, bc to me it feels like a slightly older version of the character and so, getting more built feels appropriate for that.

Overall just add more simple, small touches to communicate personality more. I think the latter one is good at that but the first one feels more generic. If it's meant to be simple though, I understand! But still. Doesn't have to be anything major, could just be things like small accessories or things she's personalized for herself. Maybe In the first version she could have a little patched up clothing to show her outdoorsy lifestyle? If not, you could add something else, just a suggestion.

From a purely visual standpoint, [DATA EXPUNGED]'s design is lots more interesting and distinct looking, and I'd only really adjust the person under the clothing and accessories. For Clementine, I feel that she could use to stand out just a tad more. However I hugely appreciate them both being poc and also having natural hairstyles (both having dreads at some point) to it! Definitely helps make them more diverse, which is always a design plus!